University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


REDFIKLDS    NEW    AND    POPULAR     PUBLICATIONS. 


SIMMS'  REVOLUTIONARY  TALES. 

UNIFORM      SERIES. 

New  and  entirely  Revised  Edition  of  WILLIAM  GIL-MORE  SIMMS' 
Romances  of  the  Revolution,  with  Illustrations  by  DARLEY. 
Each  complete  in  one  vol.,  12mo,  cloth ;  price  $1.25. 

I.  THE  PARTISAN.          III.  KATHARINE  WALTON.  (In  press.) 
II.  MELLICHAMPE.  IV.  THE  SCOUT.  (In  press.) 

V.  WOODCRAFT.  (In  press.) 

"The  field  of  Revolutionary  Romance  was  a  rich  one,  and  Mr.  Simms  has  worked  it 
admirably." — Louisville  Journal. 

"  But  few  novelists  of  the  age  evince  more  power  in  the  conception  of  a  story,  more 
artistic  skill  in  its  management,  or  more  naturalness  in  the  final  denouement  than  Mr. 
-Simms." — Mobile  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  Not  only  par  excellence  the  literary  man  of  the  South,  but  next  to  no  romance  writer 
in  America." — Albany  Knickerbocker. 

"Simms  is  a  popular  writer,  and  his  romances  are  highly  creditable  to  American 
literature." — Boston  Olive  Branch. 

"These  books  are  replete  with  daring  and  thrilling  adventures,  principally  drawn 
from  history." — Boston  Christian  Freeman. 

"  We  take  pleasure  in  noticing  another  of  the  series  which  Redfield  is  presenting  to 
the  country  of  the  brilliant  productions  of  one  of  the  very  ablest  of  our  American 
authors — of  one  itideed  who,  in  his  peculiar  sphere,  is  inimitable.  This  volume  is  a 
continuation  of 'The  Partisan.'  " — Philadelphia  American  Courier. 

ALSO     UNIFORM     WITH     T  HJJ     ABOVE 

THE   YEMASSEE, 

A  Romance  of  South  Carolina.  By  WM.  GILMORE  SIMMS.  New 
and  entirely  Revised  Edition,  with  Illustrations  by  DARLEY.  12mo, 
cloth ;  price  $1.25. 

"In  interest,  it  is  second  to  but  few  romances  in  the  language;  in  power,  it  holds  a 
hi;>h  rank ;  in  healthfulness  of  style,  it  furnishes  an  example  worthy  of  emulation." — 
Gi-eene  County  Whig. 


SIMMS'  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Poems:  Descriptive,  Dramatic,  Legendary,  and  Contemplative. 
By  WM.  GILMORE  SIMMS.  With  a  portrait  on  steel.  2  vols., 
12mo,  cloth ;  price  $2.50. 

CONTENTS  :  Norman  Maurice ;  a  Tragedy. — Atalantis  ;  a  Tale  of  the  Sea. — Tales  and 
Traditions  of  the  South.— The  City  of  the  Silent— Southern  Passages  and  Pictures.— 
Historical  and  Dramatic  Sketches. — Scripture  Legends. — Francesca  da  Rimini,  etc. 

"  We  are  glad  to  see  the  poems  of  our  best  Southern  author  collected  in  two  hand- 
some volumes.  Here  we  have  embalmed  in  graphic  and  melodious  verse  the  scenic 
wonders  and  charms  of  the  South ;  and  this  feature  of  the  work  alone  gives  it  a  per- 
manent and  special  value.  None  can  read  'Southern  Passages  and  Pictures'  without 
feeling  that  therein  the  poetic  aspects,  association,  and  sentiment  of  Southern  life  and 
scenery  lire  vitally  enshrined.  'Norman  Maurice'  is  a  dramatic  poem  of  peculiar  scope 
and  unusual  interest;  and  'Atalantis,'  a  poem  upon  which  some  of  the  author's  finest 
powers  of  thought  arid  expression  are  richly  lavished.  None  of  our  poets  ofter  ao  great 
a  variety  ol  style  or  a  more  original  choice  of  subjects."— Boston  Traveller. 

"  His  versification  is  fluent  and  mellifluous,  yet  not  lacking  i"  point  of  vigor  when  an 
energetic  style  is  requisite  to  the  subject." — N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"Mr.  Simms  ranks  among  the  first  poets  of  our  country,  and  these  well-printed 
volumes  contain  poetical  productions  of  rare  merit." — Washington  (D.  C.)  Star. 


REDFIELD'S  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS. 

RUSSO-TURKISH  CAMPAIGNS  OF  1828  AND  1829. 

With  a  View  of  the  Present  State  of  .Affairs  in  the  East.  By 
COLONEL  CHESNEY,  R.A.,  D.  C.  L.,  F.R.  S.,  Author  of  the 
Expedition  for  the  Survey  of  the  Rivers  Euphrates  and  Tigris. 
With  an  Appendix,  containing  the  Diplomatic  Correspondence 
of  the  Four  Powers  and  the  Secret  Correspondence  between  the 
Russian  and  English  Governments.  One  vol.,  12mo,  cloth ; 
Maps;  price  $1.00. 

"A  condensed  detail  of  facts,  and  the  result  of  personal  observation,  it  is  replete  with 
instructive  matter  :  a  record  of  one  of  the  most  striking  events  in  modern  history ;  a 
guide  to  the  formation  of  correct  judgment  on  the  future.  Good  maps,  and  minute 
descriptions  of  the  principal  seats  of  the  past  and  present  war ;  a  statistical  account  of 
the  military  resources  of  Turkey ;  its  present  state  and  prospects  ;  its  political  and 
commercial  value— occupy  an  interesting  portion  of  the  work,  which  we  heartily  recom- 
mend to  the  attention  of  our  readers." — London  Critic. 

"  It  fills  up  a  vacant  niche  in  the  history  of  the  times  which  seems  to  be  required  to 
give  a  proper  understanding  of  the  difficulties  which  have  resulted  in  the  present  Euro- 
pean war." — Springfield  Post. 

"  This  work,  which,  under  any  circumstances,  would  have  excited  great  interest,  is 
worthy  of  special  attention  now,  from  its  relation  to  the  eastern  contest." — Albany  Argus. 

"  Though  abounding  in  information,  it  is  clear,  straightforward,  and  as  free  from  over- 
statement'  and  irrevelant  speculations  as  the  'Commentaries  of  Caesar'" — New  York 
Evening  Post. 


THE  RUSSIAN  SHORES  OF  THE  BLACK  SEA, 

With  a  Voyage  down  the  Volga  and  a  Tour  through  the  Country 
of  the  Cossacks.  By  LAURENCE  OLIPHANT,  Author  of  "  A  Jour- 
ney to  Nepaul."  From  the  Third  London  Revised  and  Enlarged 
Edition.  12mo,  cloth;  Two  Maps  and  18  Cuts;  price  75  cents. 

"  The  latest  and  best  account  of  the  actual  state  of  Russia." — London  Standard. 

"  The  book  of  a  quick  and  honest  observer.  Full  of  delightful  entertainment." — Lon- 
don Examiner. 

k<  Mr.  Oliphant  is  an  acute  observer,  and  intelligent  man,  a  clear  and  vigorous  and  suc- 
cinct writer,  and  his  book  embodies  the  best  account  of  Southern  Russia  that  has  ever 
appeared.  His  account  of  Sevastopol  will  find  many  interested  readers." — Boston  Atlas. 

"  This  book  reminds  us  more  of  Stephen's  delightful  '  Incidents  of  Travel*  than  any 
other  book  with  which  we  are  acquainted.  It  is  an  interesting  and  valuable  book.  He 
was  as  sharp  at  seeing  as  alive  Yankee,  and  he  has  given  us  the  fruits  of  hia  observations 
in  a  very  graphic  and  interesting  style." — Boston  Traveller. 


A  YEAR  WITH  THE  TURKS; 

Or,  Sketches  of  Travel  in  the  European  and  Asiatic  Dominions 
of  the  Sultan.  By  WARRINGTON  W.  SMITH,  M.A.  With  a 
Colored  Ethnological  Map  of  Turkey.  12mo,  cloth ;  price  75  cts. 

"  Mr.  Smith  has  had  rare  opportunities.  Few  men  have  crossed  and  recrossed  the 
empire  in  so  many  directions — and  many  are  the  errors,  the  false  reports,  the  miscon- 
ceptions as  to  fact  or  motive  which  are  here  corrected  by  an  able  and  impartial  wit- 
ness."— London  Athenaum. 

"  One  of  the  freshest  and  best  books  of  travel  on  the  Sultan's  dominions." — New  York 
Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  The  reader  obtains  an  excellent  and  reliable  idea  of  the  actual  condition  of  the  poo- 
pie,  of  the  mongrel  races,  and  the  present  state  of  the  Ful  tan's  dominions.  There  in  a 
vivid  interest  in  the  narrative,  and  abundance  of  real  iulonniitiun."— Boston  Transcript. 


THE  SCOUT 


OR 


THE  BLACK  RIDERS  OF  CONGiREE 


BY  W.  GILMORE  SIMMS,  ESQ. 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  PARTISAN,"  "MELUCHAMPK,"  "KATHARINE  WALTON," 
"WOODCRAFT,"  "THE  YEMASSEE,"  "GUY  RIVERS,"  ETC. 


Failing  I  know  the  penalty  of  failure 

Is  present( infamy  and  death pause  not; 

I  would  have  shown  no  mercy,  and  I  seek  none." 
MAKING  FALIEHO. 


NEW     AND     REVISED     EDITION. 


REDFIELD 

110  AND  112   NASSAU  STREET,   NEW   YORK. 

1854. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854, 

BY  J.  S.  REDFIELD, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED    BY   C.   C.   SAVAGE, 
13  Chambers  Street,  N.  Y. 


I  \ 


TO 


COLONEL  WILLIAM  DRAYTON, 

OF    SOUTH    CAROLINA, 

I  INSCRIBE  THIS  ROMANCE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  IN  OUR 
NATIVE  STATE. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


THE    SCOUT. 


CHAPTER    I. 

HISTORICAL    SUMMARY. THE    SWAMP    RETREAT. 

AT  the  period  when  our  story  opens,  the  colonies  of  North 
America  united  in  resistance  to  the  mother-country,  had  closed  thex 
fifth  year  of  their  war  of  independence.  The  scene  of  conflict  was 
by  this  time  almost  wholly  transferred  from  the  northern  to  the 
southern  colonies.  The  former  were  permitted  to  repose  from 
the  struggle ;  in  their  security  almost  ceasing  to  recognise  the 
necessity  of  arms  ;  while  the  latter,  as  if  to  compensate  for  their 
respite,  in  the  beginning  of  the  conflict,  were  subjected  to  the 
worst  aspects  and  usages  of  war.  The  south,  wholly  abandoned 
to  its  fate  by  the  colonies  north  of  the  Potomac,  was  unequal  to 
the  struggle  single-handed.  Their  efforts  at  defence,'  however 
earnestly  made,  were  for  a  time,  apparently  made  in  vain.  In- 
experienced in  regular  warfare,  with  officers  as  indiscreet  and 
rash  as  brave,  they  were  everywhere  exposed  to  surprise  and 
consequently  to  defeat.  They  lacked  money,  rather  than  men, 
experience  and  training,  rather  than  courage,  concentration  and 
unity,  rather  than  strength.  The  two  frontier  colonies,  South 
Carolina  and  Georgia  —  most  feeble  and  most  exposed,  as  lying 
upon  the  borders  of  Florida,  which  adhered  to  the  crown,  and 
which  had  proved  a  realm  of  refuge  to  all  the  loyalists  when 
driven  out  from  the  other  colonies — were  supposed  by  the  Brit- 


8  THE   SCOUT. 

ish  commanders  to  be  entirely  recovered  to  the  sway  of  their 
master.  They  suffered,  in  consequence,  the  usual  fortune  of 
the  vanquished.  But  the  very  suffering  proved  that  they  lived, 
and  the  struggle  for  freedom  was  continued.  Her  battles, 

"  Once  begun, 

Bequeathed  from  bleeding  sire  to  son, 
Though  often  lost," 

were  never  considered  by  her  friends  in  Carolina  to  be  utterly 
hopeless.  Still,  they  had  frequent  reason  to  despair.  Gates, 
the  successful  commander  at  Saratoga,  upon  whose  great  re- 
nown and  feeble  army  the  hopes  of  the  south,  for  a  season,  ap- 
peared wholly  to  depend,  had  suffered  a  terrible  defeat  at  Cam- 
den —  his  militia  scattered  to  the  four  winds  of  Heaven — his 
regulars  almost  annihilated  in  a  conflict  with  thrice  their  num- 
ber, which,  for  fierce  encounter  and  determined  resolution,  has 
never  been  surpassed ;  while  he,  himself,  a  fugitive,  covered 
with  shame  and  disappointment,  vainly  hung  out  his  tattered 
banner  in  the  wilds  of  North  Carolina — a  colony  sunk  into  an 
apathy  which  as  effectually  paralysed  her  exertions,  as  did  the 
presence  of  superior  power  paralyse  those  of  her  more  suffering 
sisters.  Conscious  of  indiscretion  and  a  most  fatal  presumption 
— the  punishment  of  which  had  been  as  sudden  as  it  was  severe 
— the  defeated  general  suffered  far  less  from  apprehension  of 
his  foes,  than  of  his  country.  He  had  madly  risked  her  strength, 
at  a  perilous  moment,  in  a  pitched  battle,  for  which  he  had  made 
no  preparation — in  which  he  had  shown  neither  resolution  nor 
ability.  The  laurels  of  his  old  renown  withered  in  an  instant — 
his  reputation  was  stained  with  doubt,  if  not  with  dishonor.  He 
stood,  anxious  and  desponding,  awaiting,  with  whatever  moral 
strength  he  could  command,  the  summons  to  that  tribunal  of  his 
peers,  upon  which  depended  all  the  remaining  honors  of  his  ven- 
erable head. 

General  Greene  succeeded  to  the  command  of  the  miserable 
remnant  of  the  southern  army.  Cool,  prudent,  and  circumspect, 
rather  than  brilliant,  as  a  soldier,  this  gentleman  was,  perhaps, 
one  of  the  best  that  could  be  chosen  for  directing  the  efforts  of 
a  people  whose  impulses  but  too  frequently  impaired  their  con- 
duct— who  were  too  eager  to  be  wary,  and  who  suffered  per- 


HISTORICAL   SUMMARY.  9 

petually  from  the  rash  and  headstrong  courage  of  their  native 
leaders  and  their  own  indifference  to  the  usual  duties  which  be- 
long to  a  vigilant  and  cautious  command.     The  enterprise  which 
moved  Greene  to  reconduct  the  continentals  and  the  southern 
militia,  back  to  South  Carolina,  then  wholly  in  the  possession 
of  the  British,  has  been  described  as  singularly  bold  and  auda- 
cious.    But  how  he  could  have  achieved  the  deliverance  of  the 
country,  without  pressing  into  it,  we  do  not  see.     To  enter  the 
disputed  province,  to  seek,  find,  and  fight  his  enemy,  was'  the 
very  business  for  which  he  had  been  despatched,  and  the  only 
question  is  as  to  the  conduct  which  he  should  display,  in  con- 
trast with  that  of  Gates.     His  true  merit  lay  in  the  prudence 
with  which  he  prosecuted  an  enterprise,  which  the  latter  had 
sacrificed  by  conceit  and  improvidence.     The  genius  of  Greene 
was  eminently  cautious,  and  his  progress  in  South  Carolina  was 
unmarked  by  any  rashness  of  movement,  or  extravagance  of 
design.     He  was  very  soon  made  conscious  that,  with  the  mere 
fragments  of  an  army  —  and  such  an  army! — naked  men,  un- 
drilled  militia,  few  in  number,  disheartened  by  defeat,  unpro- 
vided with  arms — he  could  hope  for  nothing  but  disaster,  unless 
through  the  exercise  of  that  ever-watchful  thought,  and  rigorous 
prudence,  by  which,  almost  wholly,  the  great  captain  is  distin- 
guished.    His  wariness  formed  an  essential  part  of  his  resolu- 
tion, and  quite  as  much  as  his  valor,  contributed  to  effect  his 
object.     If  he  did  not  always  beat,  he  at  length  succeeded  in 
finally  baffling  his  opponents.     He  avoided  the  conflict  which 
the  more  presumptuous  Gates  had  too  rashly  invited.     To  baffle 
the  invader,  he  well  knew,  was  the  best  policy  by  which  to  con- 
quer him.     The  fatigue  of  forced  marches  and  frequent  alarms 
to  the  soldier,  in  an  unknown  and  hostile  country,  is  more  dis- 
couraging than  the  actual  fight  with  a  superior  foe.     Every 
hour  of  delay  added  to  the  army  of  Greene  while  it  diminished 
that  of  the  British.     The  militia  recovered  breath  and  courage, 
and  once  more  rallied  around  the  continental  standard.     Small 
but  select  bodies  of  troops  came  to  her  aid  from  the  neighboring 
states.  'North  Carolina  began  to  arouse  and  shake  herself  free 
from  her  slumbers.     Her  yeomen  began  to  feel  the  shame  of 
previous  flight  and  inaction.     Virginia,  though  scarce! T*  •">  — -^'vo. 

1* 


10  THE  SCOUT. 

as  her  own  safety  and  sense  of  duty  should  have  made  her,  was 
not  altogether  indifferent  to  the  earnest  entreaties  for  assistance 
of  the  general  of  the  south ;  and  from  Maryland  and  Delaware 
came  a  band,  few  hut  fearless,  and  surpassed  by  none  of  all  the 
troops  that  were  ever  raised  in  America.  The  tried  and  tough 
natives  of  the  mountains  and  the  swamps  emerged  once  more 
from  their  hiding-places  under  their  ancient  leaders ;  more  reso- 
lute in  the  cause  of  liberty,  and  more  vigorous  in  their  labors 
for  its  attainment,  from  the  shame  and  the  sorrow  which  fol- 
lowed their  previous  and  frequent  disappointments. 

The  countenance  of  the  British  commander  became  troubled 
as  :he  surveyed  the  gathering  aspects  of  evil  in  that  horizon, 
from  which  he  fondly  fancied  that  he  had  banished  every  cloud. 
His  troops  were  summoned  to  arms  and  to  renewed  activity  ; 
and  Greene  was  no  longer  in  a  condition  to  elude  the  arms  of 
his  adversary.  Nor  did  he  now  so  much  desire  it.  The  acces- 
sions of  force  which  his  army  had  received,  and  which  drew 
upon  him  the  regards  of  Lord  Cornwallis,  had  necessarily  en- 
couraged the  American  general,  and  inspirited  his  purposes. 
His  policy,  though  still  properly  cautious,  lost  something  of  its 
seeming  timidity ;  and  he  boldly  penetrated,  in  the  face  of  the 
.foe,  into  the  state  which  he  came  to  deliver.  A  series  of  small 
and  indecisive,  but  brilliant  adventures,  which  followed  the  dis- 
persion of  his  light  troops  over  the  country,  contributed  equally 
to  enliven  the  hopes  of  the  commander  and  the  courage  of  his 
men.  The  battle  of  King's  Mountain  had  been  fought  by  the 
brave  mountaineers  of  Virginia,  and  the  two  Carolinas,  in  which 
the  British  force  under  Ferguson — their  ablest  partisan  com- 
mander in  the  south — was  utterly  annihilated.  Tarleton,  hith- 
erto invincible,  was  beaten  by  Morgan  at  the  Cowpens,  with  a 
vastly  inferior  army ;  while  Marion,  smiting  the  tories,  hip  and 
thigh,  in  the  swamps  below,  and  Sumter,  in  a  succession  of 
brilliant  and  rapid  actions,  in  the  middle  country,  had  para- 
lyzed the  activity  and  impaired  seriously  the  strength  of  those 
smaller  parties  of  the  British,  which  were  employed  to  overawe 
the  inhabitants  and  secure  the  conquests  which  had  been  already 
made.  In  an  inconceivably  short  space  of  time,  the  aspect  of 
things  in  South  Carolina  underwent  a  change.  The  panic  which 


HISTORICAL  SUMMARY.  11 

followed  the  defeat  of  Gates,  had  worn  off.  Disaffection  so 
effectually  showed  itself  in  every  section  of  the  state,  that  the 
British  power  was  found  active  and  operative  only  in  those  por- 
tions where  they  held  strong  garrisons.  Greene,  however, 
while  these  events  were  passing,  was  kept  sufficiently  employed 
by  the  able  captains  who  opposed  him.  Brought  to  action  at 
Guilford,  he  was  forced,  rather  than  beaten,  from  the  field ;  and 
a  few  days  enabled  him  to  turn  upon  his  pursuer,  and  to  dog  his 
flight  from  the  state  which  he  could  not  keep,  to  that  in  which 
he  became  a  captive. 

But,  in  leaving  Carolina,  Cornwallis  left  the  interests  of  his 
master  in  the  custody  of  no  inferior  representative.  Lord  E-aw- 
don,  afterward  the  earl  of  Moira,  succeeded  him  in  the  command. 
He  was  unquestionably  one  of  the  ablest  general  officers  of  the 
British  army ;  and  through  a  protracted  trial  of  strength  with 
his  opponent,  he  sustained  the  duties  of  his  trust  with  equal 
skill,  vigilance,  and  valor.  The  descent  of  Greene  into  South 
Carolina,  brought  him  into  that  same  neighborhood  which  had 
proved  so  fatal  to  Gates.  His  appearance  was  followed  by  the 
sharp  action  of  Hobkirk's  Hill,  in  which  Rawdon  displayed 
many  of  those  essential  qualities  of  conduct  which  entitle  him  to 
the  name  of  an  able  soldier.  The  field  remained  with  the  Brit- 
ish, but  it  yielded  them  none  but  barren  fruits.  It  gave  them 
the  triumph,  but  not  the  success.  The  victory  was  only  not 
with  Greene.  It  must  have  been,  but  for  a  misapprehension  of 
his  orders,  on  the  part  of  one  of  his  best  officers,  having  com- 
mand of  a  favorite  regiment. 

Our  story  opens  at  this  period.  The  battle  of  Hobkirk's  Hill 
was  productive  of  effects  upon  both  of  the  contending  parties, 
which  brought  about  an  equal  crisis  in  their  fortunes.  The 
losses  of  the  two  armies  on  that  occasion,  were  nearly  the  same. 
But,  in  the  case  of  Rawdon,  the  country  offered  but  few  re- 
sources against  any  external  pressure  ;  and  immediate  and  utter 
ruin  must  have  followed  his  defeat.  He  had  exhausted  the 
means,  ravaged  the  fields,  trampled  upon  the  feelings,  and 
mocked  the  entreaties  of  the  surrounding  inhabitants.  Despair 
had  taught  them  a  spirit  of  defiance,  and  the  appearance  of  an 
American  arnw  which  was  able  to  maintain  its  ground  even 


12  THE  SCOUT. 

after  defeat,  encouraged  them  to  give  to  that  feeling  its  proper 
utterance. 

"  Conwallis  had  long  before  complained  to 'the  British  ministry 
that  he  was  "  surrounded  by  timid  friends  and  inveterate  foes;'' 
and  the  diminution  of  British  strength  and  courage,  which  ne- 
cessarily followed  the  flight  of  that  commander  into  Virginia,  to- 
gether with  the  defeats  sustained  at  Cowpens  and  King's  Mount- 
ain, naturally  enough  increased  the  timidity  of  the  one,  and  the 
inveteracy  of  the  other  party.  That  atrocious  and  reckless  war- 
fare between  the  whigs  and  tones,  which  had  deluged  the  fail- 
plains  of  Carolina  with  native  blood,  was  now  at  its  height. 
The  parties,  in  the  language  of  General  Greene,  pursued  each 
other  like  wild  beasts.  Pity  seemed  utterly  banished  from  their 
bosoms.  Neither  sex  nor  age  was  secure.  Murder  lurked  upon 
the  threshold,  and  conflagration  lighted  up,  with  the  blazing  fires 
of  ruin,  the  still,  dark  hours  of  midnight.  The  reckless  brutality 
of  the  invader  furnished  a  sufficient  example  and  provocation  to 
these  atrocities  ;  and  the  experience  of  ages  has  shown  that  hate 
never  yet  takes  a  form  so  hellish,  as  when  it  displays  itself  in 
the  strifes  of  kindred. 

It  does  not  need  that  we  should  inquire,  at  this  late  day,  what 
were  the  causes  that  led  to  this  division  among  a  people,  in  that 
hour  so  unseasonably  chosen  for  civil  strife — the  hour  of  foreign 
invasion.  It  is  sufficient  for  our  present  purpose  that  the  fact, 
however  lamentable,  is  equally  unquestionable  and  well  known. 
Our  narrative  seeks  to  illustrate  some  of  the  events  which  grew 
out  of,  and  characterized,  this  warfare.  We  shall  be  compelled 
to  display,  along  with  its  virtues  of  courage,  patriotism,  and 
endurance,  some  of  its  crimes  and  horrors !  Yet  vainly,  as 
unwisely,  would  we  desire  to  depict,  in  human  language,  its 
measureless  atrocities.  The  heart  would  sicken,  the  mind  revolt 
with  loathing,  at  those  hideous  details,  in  which  the  actors  seem 
to  have  studiously  set  themselves  free  from  all  the  restraints  of 
humanity.  To  burn  and  slay  were  not  the  simple  performances 
of  this  reckless  period  and  ravaged  country.  To  burn  in  wan- 
tonness, and  to  murder  in  cold  blood,  and  by  the  cruellest  tor- 
tures,, were  the  familiar  achievements  of  the  time;  —  and  the 
criminal  was  too  frequently  found  to  exult  ovgg  his  evil  deeds, 


THE   SWAMP   RETREAT.  13 

with  the  sanguinary  enthusiasm  of  the  Mohawk  warrior,  even 
though  the  avenging  retribution  stood  beside  him  with  warning 
finger  and  uplifted  knife.  The  face  of  the  country  was  overrun 
by  outlaws.  Detached  bands  of  ruffians,  formed  upon  the  fron- 
tiers of  Georgia,  and  in  the  wilds  of  Florida — refugees  from  all 
the  colonies — availed  themselves  of  the  absence  of  civil  author- 
ity, to  effect  a  lodgment  in  the  swamps,  the  forests,  and  the 
mountains.  These,  mounted  on  fleet  horses,  traversed  the  state 
with  the  wind  ;  now  here,  now  there ;  one  moment  operating  on 
the  Savannah,  the  next  on  the  Peedee ;  sometimes  descending 
within  sight  of  the  smokes  of  the  metropolis  ;  and  anon,  building 
their  own  fires  on  the  lofty  summits  of  the  Apalachian  ridge. 

Harassed  by  the  predatory  inroads  of  these  outlawed  squad- 
rons, stung  by  their  insults,  and  maddened  by  their  enormities, 
the  more  .civil  and  suffering  inhabitants  gathered  in  little  bands 
for  their  overthrow ;  and  South  Carolina,  at  the  period  of  our 
narrative,  presented  the  terrible  spectacle  of  an  entire  people  in 
arms,  and  hourly  engaging  in  the  most  sanguinary  conflicts. 
The  district  of  country  called  "Ninety-Six,"  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  which  our  story  will  partly  lie,  is  estimated  to  have  had 
within  its  borders,  at  the  close  of  the  Kevolution,  no  less  than 
fifteen  hundred  widows  and  orphans,  made  so  during  its  progress. 
Despair  seems  to  have  blinded  the  one  party  as  effectually  to 
the  atrocity  of  their  deeds,  as  that  drunkenness  of  heart,  which 
follows  upon  long-continued  success,  had  made  insensible  the 
other ;  —  and  as  that  hour  is  said  to  be  the  darkest  which  more 
immediately  precedes  the  dawn,  so  was  that  the  bloodiest  in  the 
fortunes  of  Carolina  which  ushered  in  the  bright  day  of  her  de- 
liverance. We  now  proceed  with  our  narrative. 

The  dusky  shadows  of  evening  were  approaching  fast. 
Clouds,  black  with  storm,  that  threatened  momently  to  dis- 
charge their  torrents,  depended  gloomily  above  the  bosom  of  the 
Wateree.  A  deathlike  stillness  overhung  the  scene.  The  very 
breezes  that  had  swayed  the  tops  .of  the  tall  cypresses,  and 
sported  capriciously  with  the  purple  berries  of  the  green  vines 
that  decorated  them,  had  at  length  folded  themselves  up  to 
slumber  on  the  dark  surface  of  the  sluggish  swamps  below.  No 
voice  of  bird  or  beast,  no  word  of  man,  denoted,  in  that  ghost- 


14  THE  SCOUT. 

like  region,  the  presence  of  any  form  of  life.  Nothing  in  its  as- 
pects, certainly,  could  jpersuade  the  casual  wayfarer  to  suspect 
that  a  single  human  heart  heat  within  those  wild  and  dark  re- 
cesses. Gloomy,  and  dense,  and  dim,  at  all  seasons,  the  very 
tribute  of  the  spring  in  this — the  generous  gifts  of  flowers  and 
fruitage — only  served  to  increase  the  depth  of  its  shadow  in  the 
rank  exuberance  of  its  vegetable  life.  The  vines,  and  shrubs, 
and  briers,  massed  themselves  together  in  an  almost  solid  Avail 
upon  its  edge,  and  forbade  to  penetrate ;  and  even  where, 
through  temporary  vistas,  the  eye  obtained  a  passage  beyond 
this  formidable  barrier,  the  dismal  lakes  which  it  encountered — 
still  and  black — filled  with  the  decayed  trunks  of  past  centu- 
ries, and  surmounted  by  towering  ranks  of  trees  yet  in  the  vigor 
of  their  growth,  defied  the  examination  of  the^  curious,  and 
seemed  to  rebuke,  with  frowning  and  threatening  shadows,  even 
the  presumption  of  a  search. 

But,  in  the  perilous  times  of  our  history,  these  seeming  dis-^ 
couragements  served  the  kindly  purposes  of  security  and  shel- 
ter. The  swamps  of  Carolina  furnished  a  place  of  refuge  to  the 
patriot  and  fugitive,  when  the  dwelling  and  the  temple  yielded 
none.  The  more  dense  the  wall  of  briers  upon  the  edge  of  the 
swamp,  the  more  dismal  the  avenues  within,  the  more  acceptable 
to  those  who,  preferring  Liberty  over  all  things,  could  there  build 
her  altars  and  tend  her  sacred  fires,  without  being  betrayed  by 
their  smokes.  The  scene  to  which  our  eyes  have  been  ad- 
dressed, still  and  deathlike  as  it  appears,  is  full  of  life — of  hearts 
that  beat  with  hope,  and  spirits  that  burn  with  animation ;  and 
sudden,  even  as  we  gaze,  the  sluggish  waters  of  the  lake  are 
rippling  into  tiny  waves  that  betray  the  onward  motion  of  some 
unwonted  burden.  In  the  moment  of  its  deepest  silence,  a  rust- 
ling is  heard  among  the  green  vines  and  crowding  foliage.  A 
gentle  strife  takes  place  \between  the  broken  waters  and  the 
rude  trunks  of  the  cypresses ;  and  the  prow  of  an  Indian  canoe 
shoots  suddenly  through  the  tangled  masses,  and  approaches  the 
silent  shore.  There  is  no  word — no  voice.  A  single  person 
stands  upright  in  the  centre  of  the  little  vessel  and  guides  it  in 
its  forward  progress  through  the  still  lagune.  Yet  no  dip  of  oar, 
no  stroke  of  paddle  betrays  his  efforts,  and  impairs  the  solemn  -,v. 


THE  SWAMP   RETREAT.  15 

silence  of  the  scene.  His  canoe  speeds  along  as  noiselessly  and 
with  as  little  effort,  as  did  that  fairy  bark  of  Phsedria  sung  by 
Spenser,  which  carried  Sir  Guyon  over  the  Idle  lake  to  the 
Enchanted  island :  — 

"  Withouten  oare  or  pilot  it  to  guide, 
Or  winged  canvass  with  the  wind  to  fly." 

The  navigator  of  our  little  canoe  is  indebted  for  her  progress 
to  no  magical  "pin,"  such  as  impelled  the  vessel  of  Phsedria  and 
obeyed  the  least  touch  of  that  laughing  enchantress.  Still,  the 
instrument  which  he  employed,  if  less  magical  in  its  origin,  was 
quite  as  simple  in  its  use.  It  called  for  almost  as  little  exertion 
of  his  arm.  His  wand  of  power  was  an  ordinary  cane,  nearly 
twenty  feet  in  length,  the  vigorous  growth  of  the  swamp  around 
him,  to  the  slender  extremity  of  which,  a  hook,  or  finger,  was 
fastened,  formed  out  of  the  forked  branches  of  some  Stubborn 
hickory ;  one  prong  being  tightly  bound  to  the  reed,  by  deer- 
sinews,  while  the  other  was  left  free,  to  take  hold  of  the  over- 
hanging limbs  of  trees,  or  the  waving  folds  of  wandering  vines 
or  shrubs,  impelling  the  bark  forward  in  any  direction,  according 
to  the  will  of  the  navigator.  It  was  thus  that  our  new  acquaint- 
ance brought  his  "dugout"  forward  to  the  shore  from  the  secret 
recesses  of  the  Wateree  swamp.  Its  yellow  waters  parted,  with- 
out a  murmur,  before  his  prow,  at  the  slightest  touch  of  this  sim- 
ple agent ;  and  the  obedient  fabric  which  it  impelled  with  a 
corresponding  flexibility,  yielding  itself  readily,  shot  from  side 
to  side,  through  the  sinuous  avenues  of  the  swamp,  as  if  endued 
with  a  consciousness  and  impulse  of  its  own ;  pressing  along  in 
silence  and  in  shadow ;  now  darting  freely  forward  where  the 
stream  widened  into  little  lakelets  ;  now  buried  in  masses  of  the 
thicket,  so  dense  and  low,  that  the  steersman  was  compelled  to 
sink  upon  his  knees  in  order  to  pass  beneath  the  green  umbra- 
geous arches. 

In  such  a  progress  the  scene  was  not  without  its  romance. 
Picturesque  as  was  this  mode  of  journeying,  it  had  its  concomi- 
tants by  which  it  was  rendered  yet  more  so.  The  instrument 
which  impelled  the  vessel,  drew  down  to  the  hand  of  the  steers- 
man the  massy  vines  of  the  thousand  varieties  of  wild  grape 
with  which  the  middle  country  of  Carolina  is  literally  covered. 


16  THE   SCOUT. 

These  fling  themselves  with  the  wind  in  which  they  swing  and 
sport,  arching  themselves  from  tree  to  tree,  and  interlacing  their 
green  tresses  until  the  earth  below  becomes  a  stranger  to  the 
sun.  Their  blue  clusters  droop  to  the  hand,  and  hang  around 
the  brows  of  the  fainting  and  feeble  partisan,  returning  from  the 
conflict.  He  forgets  the  cruelties  of  his  fellow  man,  in  solacing 
himself  with  the  grateful  tributes  which  are  yielded  him  by  the 
bounteous  nature.  Their  fruits  relieve  his  hunger  and  quench 
his  thirst — their  green  leaves  refresh  his  eye — their  shadows 
protect  him  from  the  burning  sunbeams,  and  conceal  him  from 
the  pursuit  of  the  foe. 

Dark,  wild,  and  unlovely  as  the  entrance  of  the  swamp  might 
seem,  still,  to  the  musing  heart  and  contemplative  spirit  it  had 
its  aspects  of  beauty,  if  not  of  brightness ;  and,  regarded  through 
the  moral  medium  as  a  place  of  refuge  to  the  virtuous  and  the 
good,  when  lovelier  spots  afforded  none,  it  rises  at  once  before 
the  mind,  into  an  object  of  sacred  and  serene  delight.  Its  mys- 
terious outlets,  its  Druid-like  nooks,  its  little  islands  of  repose, 
its  solemn  groves,  and  their  adorning  parasites,  which  clamber 
up  and  cling  to  its  slender  columns  a  hundred  feet  in  air,  fling- 
ing abroad  their  tendrils,  laden  with  flaunting  blossoms  and 
purple  berries  —  all  combined  to  present  a  picture  of  strange 
but  harmonious  combination,  to  which  the  youthful  steersman 
who  guides  our  little  bark  is  evidently  not  insensible.  He 
pauses  at  moments  in  favorite  spots,  and  his  large  blue  eye 
seems  to  dilate  as,  looking  upward,  he  catches  some  bright,  but 
far  and  foreign  glimpses  of  the  heavens,  through  the  ragged 
openings  in  the  umbrageous  forest.  While  he  thus  gazes  up- 
ward, seemingly  forgetful  of  the  present  in  the  remote,  we  may 
observe  him  at  our  leisure. 

His  was  a  countenance  to  invite  and  reward  examination. 
Were  the  feature^  of  the  face  sure  indices  always  of  the  indi- 
vidual character — which  we  do  not  believe — those  of  the  per- 
son now  before  us  would  not  misbeseem  those  of  a  great  land- 
scape painter.  Could  we  suppose  that  the  season  and  region  of 
which  we  write  were  favorable  to  such  employments,  we  might 
well  suspect  him  of  being  a  travelling  artist.  The  calm,  yet 
deep  contemplative  eye ;  the  upward,  outward  look ;  the  wan- 


THE   SWAMP   RETREAT.  17 

dering  mood ;  the  air  of  revery ;  the  delicate  mouth ;  the  arch- 
ing brow; — these,  and  other  characteristics  which  are  indefi- 
nable, would  seem  to  indicate  in  the  proprietor  a  large  taste  for 
the  picturesque.  Yet  was  there  a  something  still  about  the 
stranger  that  declared,  quite  as  strongly,  for  a  stem  decision  of 
temper,  a  direct  aim,  an  energetic  will,  and  a  prompt  and  rapid 
execution  of  his  purposes.  It  would  not,  indeed,  be  altogether 
safe  to  say,  that,  when  he  paused  in  his  progress  through  the 
swamp,  it  was  not  because  of  some  more  serious  purpose  than 
belonged  to  a  desire  to  contemplate  the  picturesque  in  its  aspects. 
A  just  caution,  the  result  of  that  severe  experience  which  the 
Carolinians  had  suffered  in  the  beginning  of  their  conflict  with 
the  mother-country,  may  have  prompted  him  to  wait,  and  watch, 
and  listen,  long  before  he  approached  the  land.  His  movements 
were  all  marked  by  the  vigilance  of  one  who  was  fully  conscious 
of  the  near  neighborhood  of  danger.  Before  his  vessel  could 
emerge  from  the  covert,  and  when  a  single  moment  would  have 
thrust  her  against  the  shore,  he  grasped  with  his  hook  a  swing- 
ing vine  which  he  had  already  left  behind  him,  and  arrested  her 
motion.  His  boat  swung  lightly  upon  her  centre,  and  remained 
stationary  for  a  brief  instant,  while,  drawing  from  his  vest  a 
small  whistle,  made  of  the  common  reed,  he  uttered  a  clear, 
merry  note,  which  went,  waking  up  a  hundred  echoes,  through 
the  still  recesses  of  the  swamp.  His  whistle,  thrice  repeated, 
brought  him  as  many  faint  responses  from  the  foot  of  the  hills 
to  which  he  was  approaching.  As  if  assured  by  these  replies, 
our  steersman  threw  up  his  cane  once  more,  grappled  with  a 
bough  beyond  him,  gave  a  single  pull,  and  the  bark  shot  forward. 
A  mass  of  vines  and  overhanging  branches,  almost  reaching  to 
the  water,  lay  between  him  and  the  spot  of  shore  to  which  his 
prow  was  directed.  As  he  neared  this  barrier,  he  threw  himself 
flat  in  his  boat,  and  she  passed  under  it  like  an  arrow,  rushing 
up,  in  the  next  moment,  upon  the  gravelly  shore.  He  leaped 
instantly  upon  the  bank,  drew  the  canoe  forwatd  to  the  shelter 
of  a  clump  of  bushes  growing  down  to  the  water,  and  fastened 
her  securely,  and  out  of  sight.  Another  whistle  from  the  wooded 
hills  above  now  seemed  to  indicate  the  route  which  he  should 
take ;  and,  promptly  following  where  it  led,  he  was  soon  joined 


18  THE  SCOUT. 

by  one  who  appeared  to  have  been  calmly  expecting  his  appear- 
ance. A  description  of  the  two  thus  meeting,  with  such  a 
clew  to  their  objects  as  may  seem  proper,  to  be  given  at  this 
early  period  in  our  progress,  may  well  be  reserved  for  another 
chapter. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    FRIENDS  —  A    CONFERENCE. 

THE  stranger,  as  he  leaped  upon  the  solid  earth,  appeared  of 
a  noble  and  commanding  presence.  In  shape  he  was  symmet- 
rically and  vigorously  made.  Tall,  erect,  and  muscular,  his 
person  was  that  of  one  who  had  been  long  accustomed  to  hardy 
and  active  exercises.  In  his  movements  there  was  a  confident 
ease — the  result  equally  of  a  fearless  spirit  and  a  noble  form  — 
which  tallied  well  with  a  certain  military  exactness  of  carriage ; 
commending  his  well-finished  limbs  to  the  eye,  while  conveying 
to  the  mind  of  the  observer  an  impression,  not  less  favorable,  of 
the  noble  and  firm  character  of  their  proprietor.  Nor  were  the 
features  of  his  countenance  wanting  in  anything  which  was 
needful  to  support  this  impression.  His  face  was  full,  but  not 
fleshy  ;  the  skin  of  a  clear  red  and  white,  which  the  summer  sun 
had  simply  darkened  into  manliness.  His  eye,  of  a  lively  and 
intelligent  blue,  might  have  denoted  a  rather  preponderating 
playfulness  of  temper,  but  for  the  sterner  expression  of  his 
mouth,  the  lines  of  which  were  more  angular  than  round,  the 
lips  being  too  thin  for  softness,  and,  when  compressed,  indicating 
a  severe  directness  of  purpose,  which  the  gentler  expression  of 
his  other  features  failed  entirely  to  qualify.  He  had  a  lofty 
forehead,  broad,  intellectual  and  contemplative.  His  hair,  which 
was  of  a  dark  brown,  was  long,  and,  like  his  beard,  'had  been 
suffered  to  remain  untrimmed,  possibly  as  much  in  compliance 
with  the  laws  of  necessity  as  of  taste.  We  have  already  inti- 
mated that  the  stranger  was  youthful.  He  had  probably  beheld 


THE   FRIENDS  —  A   CONFERENCE.  19 

some  twenty-five  or  thirty  summers,  though  it  may  be  that 
premature  toils  and  trials  had  anticipated  the  work  of  time,  and 
made  him  seem  somewhat  older  than  he  really  was.  He  had, 
in  the  tout  ensemble  of  his  face,  the  appearance  of  one  who  had 
just  arrived  at  the  equal  maturity  of  mind  and  body. 

His  dress  was  simple,  and  characterized  by  as  little  pretension 
as  could  possibly  be  found  in  one  who  was  not  only  young,  but 
evidently  in  the  military.  In  its  material  and  make  it  corre- 
sponded with  that  of  the  ordinary  woodmen  of  the  country.  His 
pantaloons  consisted  of  a  dark  blue  homespun,  the  legs  being 
wrapped  in  leggings  of  a  somewhat  coarser  texture  and  darker 
hue.  From  these  the  original  dye  had  been  obliterated  in 
blotches,  here  and  there ;  or  so  obscured  by  stains  from  the  yel- 
low waters  of  the  swamp,  with  which  the  wearer  had  been  so 
recently  familiar,  that  it  would  require  a  very  discriminating  eye 
to  determine  at  a  glance  of  what  color  they  originally  were.  A 
hunting-shirt  of  a  deeper  blue  than  that  of  his  under  clothes,  and 
perhaps  of  better  material,  which  reached  midway  between  his 
hips  and  knees,_completed  the  essential  parts  of  his  costume. 
This  portion  of  the  dress  was  evidently  made  with  some  regard 
to  the  shape,  and,  possibly,  the  tastes  of  the  wearer;,  a -matter 
not  so  certainly  clear  in  the  case  of  the  pantaloons.  It  fitted 
closely,  without  a  wrinkle,  and  displayed  the  symmetry  and 
muscle  of  his  form  to  the  greatest  possible  advantage.  It  had 
been  ornamented,  it  would  seem,  in  better  days,  with  a  deep 
fringe  of  a  color  somewhat  more  showy  than  that  of  the  gar- 
ment ;  but  of  this  only  a  few  occasional  traces  now  remained, 
to  testify,  much  more  effectually,  to  the  trials  through  which  it 
had  passed,  than  its  own  former  brightness  and  integrity.  The 
little  cape  which  surmounted  the  coat,  and  fell  back  upon  the 
shoulders,  had  fared  rather  more  fortunately  than  the  rest  of 
the  garment,  and  formed  no  unseemly  finish  to  the  general  fit- 
ness of  the  costume ;  particularly  as  the  wearer,  with  a  better 
taste  than  prevailed  then,  or  has  prevailed  since,  had  freed  his 
neck  from  all  the  buckram  restraints  of  gorget,  cravat,  or  stock 
— bandages  which  fetter  the  movements  of  the  head,  without 
increasing  its  dignity  or  comfort.  Enough  of  the  broad  sun- 
burned bosom  was  revealed  by  the  open  shirt  in  front,  to  display 


20  THE   SCOUT. 

that  classic  superiority  of  air  of  which  modern  fashions  almost 
wholly  deprive  the  noblest  aspect.  Upon  his  head,  without 
shading  his  brow,  rested  a  cap  of  otter-skin,  rude  and  ample  in 
its  make,  the  work,  most  probably,  of  some  favorite  slave.  A 
small  yellow  crescent,  serving  the  purpose  of  a  button,  looped 
up  one  of  the  sides  in  the  centre,  and  might,  on  pccasion,  have 
sustained  a  feather.  Plain  moccasins  of  buckskin,  the  original 
yellow  of  which  had  been  entirely  lost  in  the  more  doubtful 
colors  acquired  in  the  swamp,  completed  the  externals  of  his 
dress.  It  may  be  added  that  he  wore  no  visible  armor ;  but 
once,  as  he  stooped  to  fasten  his  skiff  beside  the  shore,  the  butt 
of  a  heavy  pistol  might  have  been  seen  protruding  from  beneath 
the  thick  folds  of  his  hunting-shirt.  From  the  unnatural  fullness 
of  the  opposite  breast,  it  would  not  be  rash  to  conjecture  that 
this  weapon  of  war  was  not  without  its  fellow. 

The  stranger  ascended  from  the  banks  and  made  his  way  toward 
the  foot  of  the  heights,  that,  skirting  the  northern  edges  of  the 
Wateree,  conduct  the  eye  of  the  spectator  to  the  lofty  summits 
of  the  Santee  hills  beyond.  Here  he  was  joined  by  the  person, 
whose  answering  signal  he  had  heard,  and,  who  had  evidently 
been  for  some  time  expecting  him.  This  was  a  man  of  middle 
size,  stout,  well-made,  coarse  in  feature,  strong  of  limb,  active 
of  movement,  apparently  without  the  refining  influences  of  society 
and  education,  and  evidently  from  the  lower  orders  of  the  people. 
Let  not  this  phrase,  however,  be  understood  to  signify  anything 
base  or  unbecoming.  Though  a  poor  man,  or  new  acquaintance 
was  not  the  work  of  one  of  nature's  journeymen,  fashioned  when 
the  "  master  hand"  was  weary.  With  head  and  feet  equally 
bare,  he  carried  the  one  with  a  virtuous  erectness  that  could  not  be 
well  misunderstood;  while  the  other  were  set  down  with  the 
freedom  and  fearlessness  of  a  man  conscious  that  he  walked  the 
soil  of  his  native  land  in  the  full  performance  of  the  equal  duties 
of  the  patriot  and  warrior.  In  this  hand  he  grasped  a  rifle  of 
immoderate  length,  the  fractured  stock  of  which,  lashed  together 
with  buckskin  thongs,  bore  tokens  of  hard  usage  in  more  respects 
than  one. 

The  unquestionable  poverty  of  this  man's  condition — which, 
indeed,  was  that  of  the  whole  American  army — did  not  seem 


THE   FRIENDS A    CONFERENCE.  21 

to  have  any  effect  upon  his  deportment  or  to  give  him  any  un- 
easiness. He  seemed  not  to  know  that  his  garments  suffered 
from  any  peculiar  deficiencies ;  and  never  did  the  language  of  a 
light  heart  declare  itself  with  so  little  reservation  from  a  blue 
eye  and  a  good-natured  physiognomy.  The  slight  cloud  of  anx- 
iety which  hung  at  moments  above  his  brow,  and  which  gather- 
ed there  in  consequence  of  cares  of  no  ordinary  kind,  could  not 
long,  at  any  time,  withstand  the  buoyant  action  of  the  cheerful 
spirit  within.  This  constantly  shone  out  from  his  face,  and 
spoke  aloud  in  the  clear,  ringing  tones  of  his  manly  and  not 
unmusical  accents.  Drawing  nigh  to  our  first  acquaintance,  he 
grasped  his  hand  with  the  joyous  look  in  a  warm  manner  of  one 
who  felt,  in  the  meeting  with  his  comrade,  something  of  a  senti- 
ment fai^  stronger  than  that  which  governs  the  ordinary  friend- 
ships among  men.  Nor  was  the  manner  of  his  comrade  less 
decided,  though,  perhaps,  more  quiet  and  subdued.  The  be- 
havior of  the  twain  was  that  of  an  intimacy  unbroken  from 
boyhood,  and  made  mutually  confident  by  the  exercise  of  trusts 
which  had  been  kept  equally  sacred  by  both  the  parties. 

"  Well,  Clarence,  Tarn  glad  you've  come.  I've  been  waiting 
for  you  a'most  two  hours.  And  how  goes  it  in  the  swamp— 
and  did  you  git  the  letters  ?" 

"I  did:  all's  well  with  us — pretty  much  as  when  you  left. 
But  how  with  you,  Jack  ?  What  news  do  you  bring  1  Is  the 
coast  clear — have  the  light  troops  gone  in  ?" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  I  may  say  yes.  Greene's  drawed  off  from 
Camdeii  sence  the  brush  at  Hobkirk's,  and  there's  no  telling 
jest  now  which  way  he's  going.  As  for  Marion,  you  know  its 
never  easy  to  say  where  to  look  for  him.  Lee's  gone  down  on 
the  s'arch  somewhere  below,  and  we're  all  to  be  up  and  busy  at 
short  notice.  I  hear  tell  of  great  things  to  do.  Our  gin'ral, 
Sumter,  is  in  motion,  and  picking  up  stragglers  along  the  Cataw- 
ba.  I  reckon  he'll  soon  be  down,  and  then  gallop's  the  word. 
Something  too  I  hear  of  Colonel  Tom  Taylor  at  Granby,  and — " 

"Enough,  enough,  Jack;  but  you  say  nothing  of  Butler  and 
his  men?  Are  they  out  of  the  way — are  they  off?  If  you 
know  nothing  about  him — " 

"  Well,  I  reckon  they're  at  Granby  by  this  time.     They've 


22  THE   SCOUT. 

given  up  the  hunt  as  a  bad  job.  I  saw  Joe  Clinch,  one  of  his 
troop,  only  two  days  ago,  and  gin  him  a  sort  of  hint  that  the 
chap  they  were  after  was  more  like  to  be  found  above  the 
Congaree  than  in  these  parts.  *  For  what's  to  save  him,'  I  said 
to  Joe,  '  down  here  in  this  neighborhood,  where  we're  all  true 
blue,  and  he  a  firehot  tory  V  That  was  a  good  reason  for 
Clinch  and  all  his  troop,  I  reckon.  They  tuk  it  for  one,  and  by 
peep  of  dawn,  they  were  streaking  it  along  the  river  road. 
They've  got  to  '  Ninety-Six,'  by  this  time,  and  even  if  they 
ha'n't,  it's  all  the  same  to  us.  They're  out  of  your  way." 

"  But  you  did  wrong,  John  Bannister,  in  saying  that  Edward 
Con  way  was  a  tory.  He  himself  denies  it." 

"  Well,  Clarence,  that's  true,  but  I  don't  see  that  his  deny- 
ing it  makes  much  difference.  It's  natural  enough  that  a  man 
should  say  he's  no  tory  when  he's  in  a  whig  camp.  The  vartue 
of  a  whole  skin  depends  upon  it.  There's  a  'chance  of  broken 
bones  if  he  says  otherwise,  which  Ned  Conway  ain't  a  going  to 
resk." 

"At  least,  for  my  sake,  John  Bannister,  give  Edward  Conway 
the  benefit  of  your  doubts,"  replied  the  other,  with  an  expression 
of  grave  displeasure  on  his  countenance.  "  We  do  not  know 
that  he  is  a  tory,  and  the  best  of  men  have  been  the  victims  of 
unjust  suspicion.  I  must  repeat  that  you  did  wrong,  if  you  loved 
me,  in  calling  him  by  such  a  name/' 

"  Ah,  Clarence,  he's  your  hafe-brother,  and  that's  the  reason 
you  ain't  willing  to  believe  anything  agin  him ;  but  I'm  dub'ous 
I  said  nothing  worse  than  the  truth  when  I  told  Clinch  he  was 
a  tory.  I'm  sure  the  proofs  agin  him  would  have  hung  up  many 
a  tall  chap  like  himself." 

"  No  more,  Jack  Bannister — no  more,"  said  the  other,  gloom- 
ily. "  It  is  enough  that  he  is  my  brother.  I  am  not  willing 
to  examine  his  demerits.  I  know,  and  acknowledge  to  you, 
that  many  things  in  his  conduct  look  suspicious ;  still  I  prefer 
to  believe  his  word — his  solemn  oath — against  all  idle  reports — 
reports,  which  are  half  the  time  slanders,  and  which  have  de- 
stroyed. I  verily  believe,  many  lives  and  characters  as  worthy 
as  our  own.  You  know  that  I  have  no  reason  to  love  Edward 
Conway.  We  have  never  been  friends,  and  I  have  no  partialities 


THE    FRIENDS A    CONFERENCE.  l'3 

in  his  favor.  Still,  he  is  the  son  of  my  father,  and  I  am  bound 
to  defend  him  while  I  remain  unconvinced  of  his  treachery.  I 
am  only  afraid  that  I  am  too  willing  to  believe  what  is  said  in 
his  prejudice.  But  this  I  will  not  believe  so  long  as  I  can  help 
it.  He  solemnly  assures  me  he  has  never  joined  the  tories.  He 
would  scarcely  swear  to  a  falsehood." 

"  Well,  that's  the  same  question,  Clarence,  only  in  another 
language.  The  man  that  would  act  a  he,  wouldn't  stop  very 
long  to  swear  to  one.  Now,  if  Edward  Conway  didn't  jine  the 
tories,  who  did  he  jine  1  He  didn't  jine  us,  did  he  ?  Did  he 
swear  to  that,  Clarence  ]" 

"  No  !  no  !     Would  to  God  he  could !" 

"  Well,  then,  what  is  it  that  he  does  say  ]  I'm  a-thinking 
that  it's  good  doctrine  to  believe,  in  times  like  these,  that  the 
man  that  ain't  with  us  is  agin  us.  Let  him  show  what  he  did 
with  himself  sence  the  fall  of  Charleston.  He  warn't  there.  You 
don't  see  his  name  on  the  list  of  prisoners — you  don't  hear  of 
his  parole,  and  you  know  he's  never  been  exchanged.  It 
mought  be  that  he  went  in  the  British  regiments  to  the  West 
Indies,  where  they  carried  a  smart  chance  of  our  people,  that 
wouldn't  ha'  got  any  worse  character  by  taking  to  the  swamps* 
as  we  did.  Does  he  say  that  he  went  there  ?" 

"  He  does  not — he  declines  giving  any  account  of  himself; 
but  still  denies,  most  solemnly,  that  he  ever  joined  the  tories." 

"  I'm  mightly  afeard,  Clarence — now,  don't  be  angry  at  what 
I'm  a-going  to  say — but  I'm  mightly  afeard  Edward  Conway 
ain't  telling  you  the  truth.  I  wouldn't  let  him  go  free — I'd 
hold  him  as  a  sort  of  prisoner  and  keep  watch  upon  him.  You've 
saved  him  when  he  didn't  desarve  to  be  saved  by  anybody,  and 
least  of  all  by  you ; — and  you  have  a  sort  of  nateral  right  to  do 
with  him  jest  as  you  think  proper  and  reasonable.  I'm  for  your 
keeping  him,  like  any  other  prisoner,  and  counting  him  in  at  the 
next  exchange.  He'll  go  for  somebody  that'll  pull  trigger  for 
his  country." 

"  Impossible  !  How  can  you  give  me  such  counsel  1  ISTo,  no, 
Jack,  let  him  be  all  that  you  think  him,  the  tory  and  the  traitor, 
still  he  comes  from  my  father's  loins,  and  though  another  mother 
gave  us  suck,  yet  I  feel  that  I  should  defend  him  as  a  brother, 


24  THE   SCOUT. 

though  he  may  not  be  altogether  one.  He  shall  suffer  no  harm 
at  hands  of  mine." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  say  he  ought.  To  keep  him  under 
a  strong  thumb  and  forefinger — to  keep  him,  as  I  may  say, 
out  of  mischief  and  out  of  danger  till  the  time  of  exchange 
comes  round,  won't  be  to  do  him  any  harm.  It's  only  one  way 
of  feeding  a  mouth  that,  mought  be,  couldn't  feed  itself  so  well 
in  these  tough  times ;  and  taking  a  little  Jamaica  from  other 
mouths  that  mought  like  it  jest  as  well,  and  desarve  it  a  great 
deal  better." 

"  What,  Jack,  do  you  begrudge  Edward  Conway  the  pitiful 
fare  which  we  can  give  him  in  the  swamp  ?  You  are  strangely 
altered,  Jack,  toward  him.  You  were  once  his  playmate  in  boy- 
hood as  well  as  mine." 

"Yes,  Clarence,  and  'twas  then,  so  far  back  as  them  same 
days  of  our  boyhood — and  they  were  mighty  sweet  days,  too,  I 
tell  you — that  I  found  him  out,  and  1'arned  to  mistrust  him. 
God  knows,  Clarence,  and  you  ought  to  know  too,  that  Jack 
Bannister  would  like,  if  he  could,  all  the  flesh  and  blood  in  this 
world  that  was  ever  a  kin  to  your'n.  I  tried  mighty  hard  to 
6ve  Ned  Conway  as  I  loved  you,  but  it  was  like  fighting  agin 
natur'.  I  tried  my  best,  but  couldn't  make  it  out  with  all  my 
trying ;  and  when  I  caught  him  in  that  business  of  the  dock- 
tailed  horse — " 

"  Do  not  remind  me  of  these  matters,  now,  Jack ;  I'm  afraid 
I  remember  them  too  well  already." 

*'  You're  only  too  good  for  him,  Clarence.  I  somehow  almost 
think  he  ain't  naterally  even  a  half-brother  of  your'n  any  how. 
You  don't  look  like  him ;  neither  eye,  nor  mouth,  nor  nose,  nor 
chin,  nor  hair,  nor  forehead — all's  different  as  ef  you  ha'd  come 
from  any  two  families  that  lived  at  opposite  eends  of  the  river, 
and  never  seed  one  another.  But,  as  you  say,  I  won't  'mind  you 
of  any  matters  that  you  don't  want  to  hear  about.  Them  days  is 
over  with  me,  and  with  him  ;  and  so  I'll  shut  up  on  that  subject. 
As  for  begrudging  him  the  bread  and  bacon,  and  the  drop  of  Ja- 
maica, sich  as  we  git  in  the  swamp  yonder — well,  I  won't  say 
nothing,  because,  you  see,  I  can't  somehow  think  you  meant  to 
say  what  you  did.  All  that  I  do  say,  Clarence,  is,  that  I  wish  I 


THE   FRIENDS A    CONFERENCE.  25 

had  enough  to  give  him  that  would  persuade  him  to  show  clean 
hands  to  his  friends  and  blood-kin,  and  come  out  for  his  country, 
like  every  man  that  has  a  man's  love  for  the  airth  that  raised 
him." 

"  I  know  you  mean  him  no  wrong,  Jack,  and  me  no  pain, 
when  you  advise  me  thus :  but  my  word  is  pledged  to  Edward 
Conway,  and  I  will  keep  it,  though  I  perish." 

"  And  don't  I  tell  you  to  keep  it,  Clarence  ?  You  promised 
to  save  him  from  Butler's  men,  that  was  a-hunting  him  ;  and 
what  better  way  than  to  keep  him  close  from  sight ;  for,  if  he 
once  gits  a-going  agin,  and  they  find  his  tracks,  it  won't  be  your 
boldness  or  my  quickness  that'll  git  him  into  the  swamp  so 
easily.  If  Butler's  men  hadn't  been  up-countrymen,  that  didn't 
onderstand  swamp  edication,  no  how,  he  wouldn't  have  had  such 
a  quiet  time  of  it  where  we  put  him.  Well,  you've  done  what 
you  promised,  and  what,  I  reckon,  every  man  was  bound  to  do 
by  his  blood-kin.  You've  saved  him  from  his  inemies ;  but 
there's  no  need  you  should  give  him  your  best  nag  that  he  may 
gallop  full-speed  into  their  pastures.  Now,  that's  what  you're 
a-thinking  to  do.  And  why  should  you  ?  If  he  ain't  a  tory,  and 
hasn't  been  one,  why  shouldn't  he  be  a  whig  ?•  Why  shouldn't-* 
he  do  what  he  ought  to  ha'  done  five  years  ago — jine  Sumter's 
men,  or  Marion's  men,  or  Pickins'  men,  or  any  men  that's  up 
for  the  country — and  run  his  bullets  with  a  tory's  name  to 
each  ?  I  don't  think  Ned  Conway  a  coward,  no  how,  and  when 
he  won't  come  out  for  his  country,  at  a  pushing  time  like  this,  I 
can't  help  considering  him  a  mighty  suspicious  friend." 

"  Enough,  Jack ;  the  more  you  speak,  and  I  think,  of  this 
matter,  the  more  unhappy  it  makes  me,"  replied  the  other.  "  If 
I  dared  to  think,  I  should  probably  come  to  more  serious  con- 
clusions than  yourself  on  the  subject  of  my  brother's  conduct ; 
which,  I  confess  is  altogether  inscrutable.  I  have  only  one 
course  before  me,  and  that  is  to  set  him  free,  even  as  he  desires, 
and  let  him  choose  his  own  route  hence  forward.  I  have  not 
spared  argument  to  persuade  him  to  our  ranks,  and  he  holds  out 
some  hopes  to  me,  that  when  he  has  finished  certain  private 
business  he  will  do  so." 

"  Private  business  !     Lord  ha'  mercy  upon  us  !     How  can  a 

2 


26  THE  SCOUT. 

body  talk  of  private  business,  when  throat- cutting  is  so  public? 
— When  there's  a  sort  of  Injin  bounty  for  sculps,  and  it  takes" 
more  than  a  man's  two  hands  to  keep  his  own  skin  and  teeth 
from  going  off,  where  they  are  worth  their  weight  in  gold  ?  Pri- 
vate business !  Look  you,  Clarence,  did  you  think  to  ask  him 
when  he  had  last  seen  Miss  Flora  Middleton  ? 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  returned  the  other,  abruptly,  and  .with  some 
impatience  in  his  manner.  "  Why  should  I  ask  him  that  ?  I 
had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  had  any  particular  reason  for 
seeing  her  at  this,  or  at  any  other  time." 

"  Now,  Clarence,  you  needn't  be  telling  me  that,  when  I  know 
so  much  better.  I  know  that  if  he  hasn't  a  reason  for  seeing 
her,  he's  always  had  a  mighty  strong  wish  that  way ;  and  as  for 
your  own  feelin's,  Lord  bless  you,  Clarence,  it's  no  fault  of 
your'n,  if  every  second  man  in  the  regiment  don't  know  the  soft 
place  in  the  colonel's  heart  by  this  time,  and  can't  put  his  finger 
on  it  whenever  he  pleases.  If  you  love  Flora  Middleton  there's 
no  harm  in  it ;  and  if  Edward  Conway  loves  her  too  —  " 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  his  companion  with  the  air  of  one 
who  is  doubtful  of  the  effect  of  that  which  he  has  already  said. 

"  Well !     What  then  ?"  demanded  the  other. 

"  Why,  only,  there's  no  harm,  perhaps,  in  that  either." 

"Ay,  but  there  is,  John  Bannister,  and  you  know  it;"  cried 
the  other,  almost  fiercely.  "Edward  Conway  knew  that  I 
loved  Flora  Middleton  long  before  he  had  ever  seen  her." 

"  Yery  true  ;  but  that's  no  good  reason  why  he  shouldn't  love 
her  when  he  did  see  her,  Clarence." 

"  But  it  is  good  reason  why  he  should  not  seek  her  with  his 
love." 

"  I  reckon,  Clarence,  he  don't  much  stand  upon  such  a  rea- 
son. There's  nothing  brotherly  in  love  matters,  Clarence ;  and 
even  if  there  was,  Ned  Conway  is  about  the  last  person  to 
make  much  count  of  it." 

*'  He  does — he  shall !  Nay,  on  this  point  I  have  his  assu- 
rance. He  tells  me  that  he  has  not  sought  her — he  has  not 
seen  her  for  months." 

"And  did  Edward  Conway  really  tell  you  so,  Clarence?" 

"  He  did — it  was  almost  his  last  assurance  when  I  left  him." 


THE   FRIENDS  —  A   CONFERENCE.  27 

"Then  he  told  you  a  most  despisable  and  abominable  lie. 
He  has  seen  her  within  the  last  three  weeks." 

"  Ha  !  how  know  you  V1 

"  From  little  Joe,  the  blacksmith,  that  was  down  by  Watson's 
before  it  was  taken  from  the  British.  Little  Joe  went  with  him 
to  Brier  Park,  and  saw  him  and  Miss  Flora  in  the  piazza  to- 
gether." 

The  young  man  clutched  the  butt  of  the  pistol  in  his  bosom 
with  a  convulsive  grasp,  but  soon  relaxed  it.  He  struck  his 
forehead,  the  next  moment,  with  his  open  palm,  then  strode 
away  from  his  companion,  as  if  to  conceal  the  emotion  which  he 
could  not  so  easily  overcome. 

"  Well,"  he  exclaimed,  returning,  "  I  had  a  strange  fear — I 
know  not  why — that  there  was  something  insincere  in  his  as- 
surance. He  made  it  voluntarily — we  had  not  named  her — 
and  even  as  he  spoke,  there  was  a  something  in  his  face  which 
troubled  me,  and  made  me  doubtful  of  his  truth.  But  he  will  go 
too  far — he  will  try  the  force  of  blood  beyond  its  patience." 

"  There's  nothing,  Clarence,  in  the  shape  of  licking  that  sich 
a  person  don't  desarve.  I  followed  out  more  of  his  crooks  than 
one,  years  ago,  when  there  was  no  war ;  and  he  had  all  the 
tricks  of  a  tory  even  then." 

"  That  he  should  basely  lie  to  me,  and  at  such  a  moment ! 
When  I  had  risked  life  to  save  him  ! — When  !. — but  let  me  not 
grow  foolish.  Enough,  that  I  know  him  and  suspect  him.  He 
shall  find  that  I  know  him.  He  shall  see  that  he  can  not  again 
cheat  me  with  loving  language  and  a  Judas  kiss." 

"Ah,  Clarence,  but  you  can  cheat  yourself.  He  knows  how 
quick  you  are  to  believe ;  and  when  he  puts  on  them  sweet 
looks,  and  talks  so  many  smooth  words,  and  makes  b'lieve  he's 
all  humility,  and  how  sorry  he  is  for  what  he's  done,  and  how 
willing  he  is  to  do  better — and  all  he  wants  is  a  little  time — as  if 
ever  a  man  wanted  time  to  get  honest  in  !  Look  you,  Clarence, 
you're  my  colonel,  and  what's  more,  I'm  your  friend — you  know 
I  love  you,  Clarence,  better  than  one  man  ever  loved  another, 
and  jest  as  well  as  Jonathan  ever  loved  David,  as  we  read  in 
the  good  book ;  but,  with  all  my  love  for  you,  Clarence,  d — n 
my  splinters,  if  you  let  Ned  Conway  cheat  you  any  longer  with 


28  THE   SCOUT. 

his  sweet  words  and  sugar  promises,  I'll  cut  loose  from  you  with 
a  jerk  that'll  tear  every  j'int  out  of  the  socket.  I  won't  be  the 
friend  of  no  man  that  lets  himself  be  cheated.  As  for  hating 
Ned  Conway,  as  you  sometimes  say  I  do,  there,  I  say,  you're 
clean  mistaken.  I  don't  hate  him — I  mistrust  him.  I've  tried 
mighty  hard  to  love  him,  but  he  wouldn't  let  me.  You  know 
how  much  I've  done  to  save  him  from  Butler's  men ;  but  I  saved 
him  on  your  account,  not  because  I  think  he  desarves  to  be 
saved.  I'm  dub'ous  that  he  is  a  tory,  and  a  rank  tory  too,  if 
the  truth  was  known,  jest  as  they  charge  it  upon  him.  I'm 
dub'ous  he'll  jine  the  British  as  soon  as  he  can  git  a  chance ; 
and  I'm  more  than  dub'ous,  that,  if  you  don't  git  before  him  to 
your  mother's  plantation,  and  run  the  niggers  into  the  swamp 
out  of  his  reach,  he'll  not  leave  you  the  hair  of  one — he'll  have 
'em  off  to  Charleston  by  some  of  his  fellows,  and  then  to  the 
West  Injies,  before  you  can  say  Jack  E-obinson,  or  what's 
a'most  as  easy,  Jack  Bannister.  There's  another  person  I  think 
you  ought  to  see  about,  and  that's  Miss  Flora.  Either  you  love 
her,  or  you  don't  love  her.  Now,  if  you  love  her,  up  and  at 
her,  at  once,  with  all  your  teeth  sot,  as  if  you  had  said  it  with 
an  oath  ;  for  though  I  know  this  ain't  no  time  to  be  a-wiving  and 
a-courting,  yet,  when  the  varmints  is  a-prowling  about  the  poul- 
try-yard, it's  no  more  than  sense  to  look  after  the  speckled  pullet. 
Take  a  fool's  wisdom  for  once,  and  have  an  eye  to  both  eends 
of  the  road.  Go  over  to  the  plantation,  and  when  you're  thar', 
you  can  steal  a  chance  to  cross  over  to  Middleton's.  It's  my 
notion  you'll  find  Ned  Conway  at  one  place  or  t'other." 

"I'll  think  of  it,"  said  Conway,  in  subdued  tones;  "mean- 
time, do  you  take  the  canoe  back  to  the  island  and  bring  him 
out.  The  horses  are  in  readiness  ?" 

"Yes,  behind  the  hill.  I'll  bring  him  out  if  you  say  so, 
Clarence  ;  but  it 's  not  too  late  to  think  better  of  it.  He 's  safe, 
for  all  parties,  where  he  is." 

"  No,  no,  Jack ;  I  've  promised  him.  I  '11  keep  my  promise. 
Let  him  go.  I  fear  that  he  has  deceived  me.  I  fear  that  he 
will  still  deceive  me.  Still  I  will  save  him  from  his  enemies, 
and  suppress  my  own  suspicions.  It  will  be  only  the  worse  for 
him  if  he  does  me  wrong  hereafter." 


THE  FRIENDS — A   CONFERENCE.  29 

"  Clarence,  if  he  turns  out  to  be  a  tory,  what  '11  our  men  say 
to  hear  you  harbored  him  V9 

"  Say  ! — perhaps,  that  I  am  no  better." 

"No,  no!  they  can't  say  that — they  sha'n't  say  it,  when 
Jack  Bannister  is  nigh  enough  to  hear,  and  to  send  his  hammer 
into  the  long  jaws  that  talk  sich  foolishness ;  but  they  '11  think 
it  mighty  strange,  Clarence." 

"  Hardly,  Jack,  when  they  recollect  that  he  is  my  father's 
son." 

"  Ah,  Lord,  there's  mighty  few  of  us  got  brothers  in  these 
times  in  Carolina.  A  man's  best  brother  now-a-days  is  the 
thing  he  fights  with.  His  best  friend  is  his  rifle.  You  may  call 
his  jack-knife  a  first-cousin,  and  his  two  pistols  his  eldest  sons ; 
and  even  then,  there 's  no  telling  which  of  them  all  is  going  to 
fail  him  first,  or  whether  any  one  among  'em  will  stick  by  him 
till  the  scratch  is  over.  Edward  Conway,  to  my  thinking, 
Clarence,  was  never  a  brother  of  your'n,  if  '  brother'  has  any 
meaning  of  '  friend'  in  it." 

"Enough,  enough,  Jack.  Leave  me  now,  and  bring  him 
forth.  I  will  do  what  I  promised,  whatever  may  be  my  doubts. 
I  will  guide  him  on  his  way,  and  with  this  night's  work  acquit 
myself  of  all  obligations  to  him.  When  we  next  meet,  it  shall 
be  on  such  terms  as  shall  for  ever  clear  up  the  shadows  that 
stand  between  us.  Away,  now  ! — it  will  be  dark  in  two  hours, 
and  we  have  little  time  to  waste.  The  storm  which  threatens 
us  will  be  favorable  to  his  flight." 


30  THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    RETROSPECT  —  THE   FUGITIVE. 

THE  dialogue  between  the  two  friends,  which  has  just  been 
given,  will  convey  to  the  mind  of  the  reader  some  idea  of  the 
situation  of  the  parties.  We  have  not  aimed  to  describe  the 
manner  of  this  dialogue,  preferring  infinitely  that  the  interlocu- 
tors should  speak  entirely  for  themselves.  It  may  be  stated  in 
this  place,  however,  that,  throughout  the  interview,  the  sturdy 
counsellor,  whose  honest  character  and  warm  friendship  consti- 
tuted his  perfect  claim  to  speak  unreservedly  to  his  superior, 
betrayed  a  dogged  determination  not  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
disposition  which  the  latter  had  resolved  to  make  of  one  whom 
he  was  pleased  to  consider  in  some  sort  a  prisoner.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  younger  of  the  two,  whom  we  have  known  by 
the  name  of  Clarence  Conway,  and  who  held  a  colonel's  com- 
mand over  one  of  those  roving  bodies  of  whig  militia,  which 
were  to  be  found  at  this  period  in  every  district  of  the  state  — 
though  resolute  to  release  his  brother  from  the  honorable  custody 
in  which  circumstances  had  placed  him — still  seemed  to  regret 
the  necessity  by  which  he  was  prompted  to  this  proceeding. 
There  were  various  feelings  contending  for  mastery  in  his  bosom. 
While  he  did  not  believe  in  the  charges  of  political  treachery 
by  which  his  half-brother  was  stigmatized,  he  was  yet  anything 
but  satisfied  that  his  purposes  were  politically  honest  or  honor- 
able. Equally  dubious  with  his  companion  on  the  subject  of 
Edward  Conway's  principles,  he  was  yet  not  prepared  to  believe 
in  the  imputation  which  had  been  cast  upon  his  performances. 
He  suspected  him,  not  of  fighting  for  the  enemy,  but  of  the 
meaner  and  less  daring  employment,  of  speculating  in  the 
necessities  of  the  country  ;  and,  in  some  way  or  other,  of  craftily 
availing  himself  of  its  miseries  and  wants,  to  realize  that  wealth, 
the  passion  for  which  constituted,  he  well  knew,  a  leading  and 
greedy  appetite  in  the  character  of  his  kinsman. 


THE  RETROSPECT  —  THE  FUGITIVE.  81 

Clarence  Conway  was  the  youngest  son  of  a  gentlemen  who 
came  from  the  West  Indies,  bringing  with  him  an  only  child — 
then  an  infant — the  fruit  of  a  first  marriage  with  a  lady  of  Bar- 
badoes,  who  died  in  bringing  it  into  the  world.  The  graceful 
form,  pleasing  manners,  and  varied  intelligence  of  this  gentle- 
man, gained  him  the  favor  of  a  young  lady  of  the  Congaree,  who 
became  his  wife.  One  son,  our  hero,  was  born  to  this  union ; 
and  his  eyes  had  scarcely  opened  upon  the  light,  when  his 
father  fell  a  victim  to  fever,  which  he  caught  in  consequence  of 
some  rash  exposure  among  the  swamps  of  the  low  country. 
The  infant,  Clarence,  became  the  favorite  of  his  grandparents, 
by  whom  he  was  finally  adopted.  He  thus  became  the  heir  of 
possessions  of  a  vastness  and  value  infinitely  beyond  those 
which,  by  the  laws  of  primogeniture,  necessarily  accrued  to  his 
half-brother. 

The  anxiety  of  Edward  Conway  to  be  the  actual  possessor 
of  his  rights,  became  so  obvious  to  all  eyes,  that  Mrs.  Conway 
yielded  him  early  possession,  soon  after  her  husband's  death, 
and  retired  to  one  of  the  plantations  which  had  descended  from 
her  father  to  her  son.  Edward  Conway  did  not  long  retain  the 
estate  left  him  by  his  father.  He  was  sagacious  or  fortunate 
enough  to  sell  it,  and  realize  its  value  in  money,  before  the 
strifes  of  the  Revolution  became  inevitable.  With  the  conquest 
of  Carolina  by  the  British,  he  almost  disappeared  from  sight ; 
but  not  until  himself  and  half-brother  had  already  come  into 
conflict  on  grounds  which  did  not  involve  any  reference  to  the 
politics  of  the  country.  This  collision  between  them  was  of  such 
a  nature — already  hinted  at  in  the  previous  chapter — as  to 
bring  into  active  exercise  the  anger  of  the  one,  and  the  dissimu- 
lation of  the  other.  To  Clarence  Conway,  therefore,  the  unfre- 
quent  appearance  of  Edward  afforded  but  little  discontent.  The 
late  return  of  the  latter,  under  circumstances  of  suspicion — 
under  imputations  of  political  treachery,  and  accusations  of  crime 
— now  bewildered  the  more  frank  and  passionate  youth,  who 
lamented  nothing  half  so  much  as  to  be  compelled  to  call  him 
kinsman.  He  knew  the  wilfulness  of  heart  which  characterized 
him,  and  dreaded  lest  he  should  abuse,  in  a  respect  purely  per- 
sonal, the  freedom  which  he  was  about  to  confer  upon  him.  "His 


m 

*% 

32  THE  SCOUT. 

own  ability  to  follow,  and  to  watch  the  object  of  his  suspicions, 
was  very  limited  at  this  period.  His  movements  were  governed 
by  his  military  position,  by  prudence,  and  certain  other  relations 
of  a  more  private  nature,  which  shall  be  considered  as  we  pro- 
ceed. 

With  no  such  restraints  as  these,  and  once  more  safe  from  the 
dangers  which  had  compelled  him  to  seek  shelter  at  the  hands 
of  his  brother  in  the  swamp,  the  future  conduct  of  Edward 
Conway  filled  the  mind  of  Clarence  with  many  apprehensions; 
the  more  strongly  felt,  since  his  falsehood,  in  a  particular  re- 
spect, had  been  revealed  by  his  companion.  There  was,  as  ,the 
latter  had  phrased  it,  a  weak  or  tender  spot  in  the  bosom  of 
Clarence  Conway,  which  led  him  to  apprehend  everything  of 
evil,  should  Edward  prove  false  to  certain  pledges  which  he  had 
voluntarily  made,  and  proceed  to  a  dishonorable  use '  of  his 
liberty.  But  it  was  a  point  of  honor  with  him  not  to  recede 
from  his  own  pledges ;  nor  to  forbear,  because  of  a  revival  of 
old  suspicions,  the  performances  to  which  they  had  bound  him. 
Yet,  in  the  brief  hour  that  followed  the  departure  of  Jack  Ban- 
nister, how  much  would  his  young  commander  have  given,  could 
he  have  taken  his  counsel — could  he  have  kept,  as  a  prisoner, 
that  person  whose  passions  he  well  knew,  and  whose  dissimula- 
tion he  feared.  He  thus  nearly  argued  himself  into  the  convic- 
tion— not  a  difficult  one  at  that  period — that  it  was  his  public 
duty  to  arrest  and  arraign,  as  a  criminal  to  his  country,  the  per- 
son against  whom  the  proofs  were  so  strikingly  presumptive. 

As  he  reflected  upon  this  subject,  it  seemed  to  astonish  even 
himself,  the  degree  of  criminality  which  he  was  now  willing  to 
attach  to  his  kinsman's  conduct.  How  was  it  that  he  had  be- 
come so  generally  suspected  ?  How  easy,  if  he  were  able,  to 
prove  his  fidelity  1  Why  was  he  absent  from  the  field  ?  Where 
had  he  been  ?  Though  proof  was  wanting  to  show  that  he  had 
been  active  in  the  British  cause,  yet  none  was  necessary  to  show 
that  he  had  been  wholly  inactive  for  the  American.  More  than 
once,  in  the  interval  which  followed  from  the  first  futile  attempts 
to  the  final  and  successful  invasion  of  the  state,  by  the  enemy, 
had  Clarence  sought  him,  to  stimulate  his  patriotism,  and  urge  him 
to  the  field.  All  their  conferences  were  devoted  to  this  object ; 


THE   EETROSPECT  —  THE   FUGITIVE.  83 

the  youth  sometimes  assuming  a  language  in  the  controversy, 
which  nothing  but  the  purity  of  his  patriotism  and  his  own 
obvious  disinterestedness,  could  have  justified  from  the  lips  of  a 
younger  brother. 

But  his  exhortations  fell  upon  unheeding  ears — his  arguments 
in  barren  places.  There  were  no  fruits.  Edward  Conway 
contrived  with  no  small  degree  of  art  to  conceal  his  real  senti- 
ments, at  a  time  when  the  great  body  of  the  people  were  only 
too  glad  to  declare  themselves,  either  on  one  side  or  the  other. 
Subsequently,  when  the  metropolis  had  fallen,  the  same  adroit- 
ness was  exercised  to  enable  him  to  escape  from  the  consequen- 
ces of  committal  to  either.  How  this  was  done — by  what 
evasions,  or  in  what  manner — Clarence  Conway  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand. 

As  the  war  proceeded,  and  the  invasion  of  the  colony  became 
general,  the  active  events  of  the  conflict,  the  disorders  of  the 
country,  the  necessity  of  rapid  flight,  from  point  to  point,  of  all 
persons  needing  concealment,  served  to  prevent  the  frequent 
meeting  of  the  kinsmen;  —  and  circumstances,  to  which  we 
have  already  adverted,  not  to  speak  of  the  equivocal  political 
position^of  the  elder  brother,  contributed  to  take  from  such 
meetings  what  little  gratification  they  might  have  possessed  for 
either  party.  Whenever  they  did  meet,  the  efforts  of  Clarence 
were  invariably  made,  not  to  find  out  the  mode  of  life  which  the 
other  pursued,  but  simply  to  assure  himself  that  it  was  right  and 
honorable.  To  this  one  object  all  his  counsels  were  addressed ; 
but  he  was  still  compelled  to  be  content  with  a  general  but 
vague  assurance  from  the  other,  that  it  was  so.  Still  there  was 
one  charge  which  Edward  Conway  could  not  escape.  This  was 
the  omission  of  that  duty  to  his  country,  which,  in  a  season  of 
invasion,  can  not  be  withheld  without  dishonoring  either  the 
manhood  or  the  fidelity  of  the  citizen.  Clarence  was  not  willing 
to  ascribe  to  treachery  this  inaction ;  yet  he  could  not,  when- 
ever he  gave  any  thought  to  the  subject,  attribute  it  to  any 
other  cause.  He  knew  that  Edward  was  no  phlegmatic;  he 
knew  that  he  was  possessed  of  courage— nor  courage  merely; 
he  knew  that  a  large  portion  of  audacity  and  impulse  entered 
into  his  character.  That  he  was  active  in  some  cause,  and  con- 
s'* 


34  THE  SCOUT. 

stantly  engaged  in  some  business,  Edward  Conway  did  not  him- 
self seek  to  deny.  What  that  business  was,  however,  neither 
the  prayers  nor  the  exhortations  of  Clarence  and  his  friends 
could  persuade  him  to  declare ;  while  the  discovery  of  a  cir- 
cumstance, by  the  latter,  which  led  him  to  apprehend  the  in- 
terference of  the  former  in  another  field  than  that  of  war,  con- 
tributed still  farther  to  estrange  them  from  each  other.  Enough 
now  has  been  said  to  render  the  future  narrative  easy  of  com- 
prehension. 

While,  with  vexing  and  bitter  thoughts,  Clarence  Conway 
awaited  the  progress  of  his  companion,  with  the  fugitive  whom 
he  had  given  into  his  charge,  Supple  Jack  (for  that  was  the 
nom  de  guerre  conferred  by  his  comrades  upon  the  worthy  wood- 
man, in  compliment  to  certain  qualities  of  muscle  which  made 
his  feats  sometimes  remarkable)  penetrated  into  the  recesses  of 
the  swamp,  with  a  degree  of  diligence  which  by  no  means 
betokened  his  own  disposition  of  mind  in  regard  to  the  particu- 
lar business  upon  which  he  went.  But  Supple  Jack  was  superior 
to  all  that  sullenness  which  goes  frowardly  to  th.e  task,  because 
it  happens  to  disapprove  it.  As  a  friend,  he  counselled  without 
fear ;  as  a  soldier,  he  obeyed  without  reluctance.  0 

He  soon  reached  the  little  island  on  the  edge  of  the  Wateree 
river,  where  Clarence  Conway  had  concealed  his  kinsman  from 
the  hot  hunt  which  had  pursued  him  to  the  neighborhood.  So 
suddenly  and  silently  did  he  send  his  canoe  forward,  that  her 
prow  struck  the  roots  of  the  tree,  at  whose  base  the  fugitive 
reclined,  before  he  was  conscious  of  her  approach. 

The  latter  started  hastily  to  his  feet,  and  the  suspicious  mood 
of  Supple  Jack  was  by  no  means  lessened,  when  he  beheld 
him  thrust  into  his  bosom  a  paper  upon  which  he  had  evidently 
been  writing. 

To  the  passing  spectator  Edward  Conway  might  have  seemed 
to  resemble  his  half-brother.  They  were  not  unlike  in  general 
respects — in  height,  in  muscle,  and  in  size.  The  air  of  Clarence 
may  have  been  more  lofty ;  but  that  of  Edward  was  equally 
firm.  But  the  close  observer  would  have  concurred  with  the 
woodman,  that  they  were,  as  kinsman,  utterly  unlike  in  almost 
every  other  respect.  The  aspect  of  Clarence  Conway  was 


THE  RETROSPECT — THE   FUGITIVE.  35 

bright  and  open,  like  that  of  an  unclouded  sky ;  that  of  Edward 
was  dark,  reserved  and  lowering.  There  was  usually  a  shyness 
and  a  suspiciousness  of  manner  in  his  glance  and  movement ; 
and,  while  he  spoke,  the  sentences  were  prolonged,  as  if  to 
permit  as  much  premeditation  as  possible  between  every  syllable. 
His  smile  had  in  it  a  something  sinister,  which  failed  to  invite 
or  soothe  the  spectator.  It  was  not  the  unforced  expression  of 
a  mind  at  ease  —  of  good-humor — of  a  heart  showing  its  clear 
depths  to  the  glances  of  the  sun.  It  was  rather  the  insidious 
lure  of  the  enchanter,  who  aims  to  dazzle  and  beguile. 

As  such  only  did  our  woodman  seem  to  understand  it.  The 
strained  and  excessive  cordiality  of  Edward  Conway,  as  he 
bounded  up  at  his  approach — the  hearty  offer  of  the  hand — 
met  with  little  answering  warmth  on  the  part  of  the  former. 
His  eye  encountered  the  glance  of  the  fugitive  without  fear,  but 
with  a  cold  reserve ;  his  hand  was  quickly  withdrawn  from  the 
close  clutch  which  grasped  it ;  and  the  words  with  which  he 
acknowledged  and  answered  the  other's  salutation  were  as  few 
as  possible,  and  such  only,  as  were  unavoidable.  The  fugitive 
saw  the  suspicion,  and  felt  the  coldness  with  which  he  was  en- 
countered. Without  seeming  offended,  he  made  it  the  subject 
of  immediate  remark. 

"Ha,  Jack,  how  is  this?  Friends — old  friends — should  not 
meet  after  such  a  fashion.  Wherefore  are  you  so  cold  1  Do  you 
forget  me  1  Have  you  forgotten  that  we  were  boys  together, 
Jack — playmates  for  so  many  happy  years?" 

"  No,  no  !  I  hain't  forgotten  anything,  Edward  Conway,  that 
a  plain  man  ought  to  remember;"  replied  the  woodman,  taking 
literally  the  reproach  of  his  companion.  "  But  we  ain't  boys 
and  playmates  any  longer,  Edward  Conway.  We  are  men 
now,  and  these  are  no  times  for  play  of  any  sort ;  and  there's 
a  precious  few  among  us  that  know  with  whom  we  can  play 
safely,  nowadays,  without  finding  our  fingers  in  the  wolf's 
mouth." 

"  True  enough,  Jack ;  but  what's  true  of  other  people  needn't 
be  true  of  us.  Times  change ;  but  they  shouldn't  change 
friends.  We  are  the  same,  I  trust,  that  we  have  ever  been  to 
one  another," 


36  THE  SCOUT. 

This  was  said  with  an  eager  insinuating  manner,  and  the  hand 
of  Conway  was  a  second  time  extended  to  take  that  of  the  other. 
But,  without  regarding  the  movement,  Supple  Jack  replied  with 
a  blunt  resoluteness  of  demeanor,  which  would  most  effectually 
have  rebuffed  any-less  flexible  spirit :  — 

"  I  reckon  we  a'n't,  Edward  Conway,  and  it's  of  no  use  to 
beat  about  the  bush  to  find  out  what  to  say.  Times  change  and 
we  change,  and  it's  onnatural  to  expect  to  keep  the  same  face 
in  all  weathers.  I  know  there's  a  mighty  great  change  in  me, 
and  I'm  thinking  there's  the  same  sort  of  change  going  on  in 
a'most  everybody.  I  used  to  be  a  quiet  peaceable  sort  of  per- 
son, that  wouldn't  hurt  a  kitten ;  and  now  I'm  wolfish  more  than 
once  a  week,  and  mighty  apt  to  do  mischief  when  I  feel  so.  I 
used  to  believe  that  whatever  a  pair  of  smooth  lips  said  to  me 
was  true,  and  now  I  suspicions  every  smooth  speaker  I  meet,  as 
if  he  wor  no  better  than  a  snake  in  the  grass.  'Tain't  in  my 
natur  to  keep  the  same  face  and  feelin's,  always,  any  more  than 
the  weather,  and  I  tell  you  plainly  I'm  quite  another  sort  of 
person  from  the  boy  that  used  to  play  with  you,  and  Clarence 
Conway,  long  time  ago." 

"  Ah,  Jack,  but  you  hav'n't  changed  to  him — you  are  the 
same  friend  to  Clarence  Conway  as  ever." 

"  Yes,  bless  God  for  all  his  marcies,  that  made  me  love  the 
boy  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  kept  the  same  heart  in  me  after  he 
came  to  be  a  man.  I  a'n't  ashamed  to  say  that  I  love  Clarence 
the  same  as  ever,  since  he  never  once,  in  all  my  dealings  with 
him,  boy  and  man,  ever  gin  me  reason  to  distrust  him.  He's 
mighty  like  an  oak  in  two  ways — he's  got  the  heart  of  one,  and 
there's  no  more  bend  in  him  than  in  an  oak." 

The  cheek  of  the  fugitive  was  flushed  as  he  listened  to  this 
simple  and  earnest  language.  He  was  indiscreet  enough  to  press 
the  matter  farther. 

"But  why  should  you  distrust  me,  Jack  Bannister?  You 
have  known  me  quite  as  long  as  you  have  known  Clarence,  we 
have  played  as  much  together — " 

"  Ay  !"  exclaimed  the  other  abruptly,  and  with  a  startling  en- 
ergy. «  gut  we  hav'n't  fou't  together,  and  bled  together,  and 
slept  together,  and  starved  together,  Edward  Conway.  You 


THE   RETROSPECT  —  THE  FUGITIVE.  37 

hav'n't  been  so  ready  as  Clarence  to  come  out  for  your  country. 
Now,  I've  starved  in  his  company,  and  run,  and  fou't,  and  been 
with  him  in  all  sorts  of  danger,  and  he's  never  been  the  first  to 
run,  and  he's  always  been  the  last  to  feel  afraid,  and  to  show 
that  he  was  hungry.  For  nine  months  we  had  but  one  blanket 
between  us,  and  that  was  half  burnt  up  from  sleeping  too  close 
to  the  ashes  one  cold  night  last  Christmas.  It's  sich  things  that 
made  us  friends  from  the  beginning,  and  it's  sich  things  that 
keep  us  friends  till  now.  You  don't  seem  altogether  to  remem- 
ber, that  you  and  me  war  never  friends,  Edward  Conway,  even 
when  we  war  playmates ;  and  the  reason  was  I  always  mis- 
trusted you.  Don't  think  I  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings  by  tel- 
ling you  the  truth.  You're  a  sort  of  prisoner,  you  see,  and  it 
would  be  mighty  ongenteel  for  me  to  say  anything  that  mought 
give  offence,  and  I  ax  pardon  if  I  does ;  but  as  I  tell  you,  I  mis- 
trusted you  from  the  beginning,  and  I  can't  help  telling  you  that 
I  mistrust  you  to  the  eend.  You  ha'n't  got  the  sort  o'  ways  I 
like,  and  when  that's  the  case,  it's  no  use  to  strain  one's  natur* 
to  make  a  liking  between  feelings  that  don't  seem  to  fit.  Be- 
sides, you  hev'  a  bad  standing  in  the  country.  These  men  of 
Butler's  swear  agin  you  by  another  name,  and  it  looks  mighty 
suspicious  when  we  come  to  consider  that  none  of  the  whigs  have 
anything  to  say  in  your  behalf." 

"  One  thing  is  certain,  John  Bannister,"  replied  the  fugitive 
composedly;    "you  at  least  preserve  your  ancient  bluntness. 
You  speak  out  your  mind  as  plainly  as  ever." 
"I  reckon  its  always  best,"  was  the  answer. 
"  Perhaps  so,  though  you  do  me  injustice,  and  your  suspicions 
are  ungenerous.     It  is  unfortunate  for  me  that,  for  some  little 
time  longer  I  must  submit  to  be  distrusted.     The  time  will  come, 
however,  and  I  hope  very  soon,  when  you  will  cease  to  regard 
me  with  doubt  or  suspicion." 

"  Well,  I  jine  my  hope  to  your'n  in  that  matter ;  but,  till  that 
time  comes  round,  Edward  Conway,  I  mought  as  well  say  to 
you  that  we  are  not  friends,  and  I  don't  think  it  'ill  make  us  any 
nearer  even  if  you  war  to  prove  that  you're  no  tory.  For  why 
— I  know  that  you're  no  friend  to  Clarence,  for  all  he's  done 
for  you." 


1* 

38  THE  SCOUT. 

"Ha,  Bannister — how — what  know  you?" 

"  Enough  to  make  me  say  what  I'm  saying.  Now,  you  hear 
me,  jest  once,  for  the  first  and  last  time  that  I  may  ever  have  a 
chance  of  letting  you  see  my  mind.  I  know  enough  to  know 
that  you've  been  a-working  agin  Clarence,  and  I  suspicions  you 
ha'n't  done  working  agin  him.  Now,  this  is  to  let  you  onder- 
stand  that  Jack  Bannister  has  nara  an  eye  in  his  head  that 
don't  watch  for  his  friend  and  agin  his  enemy :  and  I  tell  you 
all  in  good  natur',  and  without  meaning  any  malice,  that,  what- 
ever harm  you  do  to  him,  that  same  harm  I'll  double  and  treble 
upon  you,  though  I  wait  and  watch,  out  in  the  worst  weather, 
and  walk  on  bloody  stumps,  to  do  it.  I  suspicions  you,  Edward 
Oonway,  and  I  give  you  fair  warning,  I'll  be  at  your  heels, 
like  a  dog  that  never  barks  to  let  the  world  know  which  way 
he's  nmning." 

"  A  fair  warning  enough,  Bannister,"  replied  the  fugitive  with 
recovered  composure,  and  a  moderate  show  of  dignity.  "  To 
resent  your  language,  at  this  time,  would  be  almost  as  foolish  as 
to  endeavor  to  prove  that  your  suspicions  of  me  are  groundless. 
I  shall  not  feel  myself  less  manly  or  less  innocent  by  forbearing 
to  do  either." 

"  "Well,  that's  jest  as  you  think  proper,  Edward  Conway ;  I 
must  ax  your  pardon  agin  for  saying  rough  things  to  a  man  that's 
a  sort  of  prisoner,  but  I'm  thinking  it's  always  the  cleanest  play 
to  speak  the  truth  when  you're  forced  to  it.  You've  been  talk- 
ing at  me  ever  sence  the  time  I  helped  Clarence  to  git  you  into 
the  swamp,  as  if  I  had  been  some  old  friend  of  your'n ;  and  it 
went  agin  me  to  stand  quiet  and  hear  you  all  the  time,  and  not 
set  you  right  on  that  matter.  Now,  as  the  thing's  done,  with 
your  teave  we'll  say  no  more  about  it.  My  orders  from  the 
colonel  war  to  carry  you  out  of  the  swamp ;  so  you'll  make 
ready  as  soon  as  you  can,  for  there's  precious  little  of  daylight 
left  for  a  mighty  dark  sort  of  navigation. 

"  And  where  is  he — where  do  you  take  me  ?"  demanded  the 
fugitive. 

"  Well,  it's  not  in  my  orders  to  let  you  know  any  more  than 
I've  told  you  :  only  I  may  say  you  don't  go  out  exactly  where 
you  came  in." 


THE   RETROSPECT  —  THE   FUGITIVE.  39 

"Enough,  sir.  I  presume  that  my  brother's  commands  will 
insure  me  a  safe  guidance  ?  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you." 

This  was  said  with  that  air  of  resentment  which  amply  proved 
to  the  woodman  that  his  blunt  freedoms  had  been  sensibly  felt. 
He  smiled  only  at  the  distrust  which  the  words  of  the  fugitive 
seemed  to  betray,  and  the  haughtiness  of  his  manner  appeared 
rather  to  awaken  in  the  honest  scout  something  of  a  pleasurable 
emotion. 

"  Well,"  he  muttered  half  aloud  as  he  prepared  to  throw  the 
boat  off  from  her  fastenings ;  "  well,  it's  not  onreasonable  that 
he  should  be  angry.  I  don't  know  but  I  should  like  him  the 
better  if  he  would  throw  off  his  coat  and  back  all  his  sly  doings 
at  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol.  But  I  have  no  patience  with  any- 
thing that  looks  like  a  sneak.  It's  bad  enough  to  be  dodging 
with  an  enemy,  but  to  dodge  when  a  friend's  looking  arter  you, 
is  a  sort  of  sport  I  consider  mighty  onbecoming  in  a  white  man. 
It's  nigger  natur',  and  don't  shame  a  black  skin,  but — well, 
you're  ready,  Mr.  Edward  1  Jest  take  your  seat  in  the  bottom , 
and  keep  stiddy.  It's  a  ticklish  sort  of  navigation  we've  got 
before  us  ,  and  our  dug-out  a'n't  much  more  heavier  than  a  good- 
sized  calabash.  She'll  swim  if  we're  stiddy,  but  if  you  dodge 
about  we'll  spile  our  leggins,  and  mought  be,  have  to  swim  for  it. 
Stiddy,  so.  Are  you  right,  sir  f 

"  Steady— all  right !"  was  the  calm,  low  response  of  the  fugi- 
tive, as  the  canoe  darted  through  the  lagune. 


40  THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    KINSMEN. 

THE  boat,  under  the  adroit  management  of  Supple  Jack, 
soon  reached  the  shore  where  Clarence  Conway  awaited  them. 
Standing  side  by  side,  there  was  little  obvious  difference  between 
the  persons  of  the  kinsmen.  They  were  both  equally  tall, 
strongly  made  and  symmetrical — each  had  the  same  general 
cast  of  countenance — the  hair  was  not  unlike;  the  complexion 
of  Edward  was  darker  than  that  of  Clarence.  The  difference 
between  them,  physically,  if  not  so  obvious,  was  yet  singularly 
marked  and  substantial.  There  was  that  in  the  expression  of 
their  several  faces,  which,  to  the  nice  physiognomical  critic,  did 
not  inaptly  illustrate  the  vital  differences  in  the  two  characters 
as  they  will  be  found  to  display  themselves  in  the  progress  of 
this  narrative.  The  forehead  and  chin  of  the  former  were  much 
smaller*  than  those  of  the  younger.  The  cheek-bones  were 
higher ;  the  lips,  which  in  Clarence  Conway  were  usually  com- 
pressed, giving  an  air  of  decision  to  his  mouth  which  approached 
severity,  were,  in  the  case  of  Edward,  parted  into  smiles,  which 
were  only  too  readily  and  too  easily  evoked,  not,  sometimes,  to 
awaken  doubts  of  their  sincerity  in  the  mind  of  the  spectator. 
Some  well-defined  lines  about  the  upper  lip  and  corners  of  the 
mouth,  which  signified  cares  and  anxieties,  tended  still  more  to 
make  doubtful  the  prompt  smile  of  the  wearer.  The  difference 
of  five  years — for  that  period  of  time  lay  between  their  several 
ages — had  added  a  few  wrinkles  to  the  cheeks  and  brow  of  the 
elder,  which  nowhere  appeared  upon  the  face  of  the  younger. 
A  conscience  free  from  reproach,  had  probably  saved  him  from 
tokens  which  are  quite  as  frequently  the  proofs  of  an  ill-ordered 
life  as  of  age  and  suffering.  Some  other  leading  differences  be- 
tween the  two  might  be  traced  out  by  a  close  observer,  and  not 
the  least  prominent  of  these  exhibited  itself  at  the  moment  of 


THE   KINSMEN.  41 

their  present  meeting,  in  the  over-acted  kindness  and  extreme 
courtesy  of  the  fugitive  kinsman.  His  sweet  soft  tones  of  con- 
ciliation, his  studied  gentleness  of  accent,  and  the  extreme  hu- 
mility of  his  gesture — all  appeared  in  large  contrast  with  the 
simple,  unaffected  demeanor  of  the  younger.  The  feelings  of 
Clarence  were  all  too  earnest  for  mannerism  of  any  sort ;  and, 
motioning  Jack  Bannister  aside,  he  met  his  half-brother  with  an 
air  full  of  direct  purpose,  and  a  keenly-awakened  consciousness 
of  the  dark  doubts  renewed  in  his  mind  upon  that  mystery  which 
rose  up  like  a  wall  between  them. 

It  was  difficult  to  say,  while  Edward  Conway  was  approach- 
ing him,  whether  sorrow  or  anger  predominated  in  his  counte- 
nance. But  the  face  of  the  fugitive  beamed  with  smiles,  and 
his  hand  was  extended.  The  hand  remained  untaken,  however, 
and  the  eye  of  the  elder  brother  shrunk  from  the  encounter  with 
the  searching  glance  of  Clarence.  A  slight  suffusion  passed 
over  his  cheek,  and  there  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke, 
which  might  be  natural  to  the  resentment  which  he  must  have 
felt,  but  which  lie  showed  no  other  disposition  to  declare. 

"  So  cold  to  me,  Clarence  ]  What  now  should  awaken  your 
displeasure  ?  You  have  behaved  nobly  in  this  business — do  not 
send  me  from  you  in  anger !" 

"  I  have  behaved  only  as  a  brother,  Edward  Conway.  Would 
that  you  could  feel  like  one  !  You  have  again  deceived  me  !" 
was  the  stern,  accusing  answer. 

"  Deceived  you !"  was  the  reply,  and  the  eye  of  the  speaker 
wandered  from  the  strong  glance  of  his  kinsman,  and  his  lips 
whitened  as  he  spoke ;  "  how,  Clarence — how  have  I  deceived 
you?" 

"  But  this  day  you  assured  me,  on  your  honor,  that  you  had 
not  sought  Flora  Middleton  since  my  last  conference  with  you 
on  the  subject.  I  now  know  that  you  have  been  at  Brier  Park 
within  the  last  three  weeks." 

The  practised  cunning  of  the  worlding  came  to  the  relief  of 
the  accused,  and  Edward  Conway  availed  himself  of  one  of 
those  petty  evasions  to  which  none  but  the  mean  spirit  is  ever 
willing  to  resort. 

"  Very  true,  Clarence ;  but  I  did  not  seek  Flora  in  going  there. 


42  THE  SCOUT. 

I  happened  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  at  nightfall,  and  saw  no 
good  reason  for  avoiding  a  good  supper  and  a  comfortable  bed, 
which  I  knew  the  hospitalities  of  Brier  Park  would  always 
afford  me.  I  did  go  there — that  is  true — saw  Flora  and  all 
the  family — but  it  is  nevertheless  equally  true,  that  in  going 
there  I  did  not  seek  her." 

"  But  you  withheld  the  fact  of  your  being  there,  Edward 
Conway,  and  left  the  impression  on  my  mind  that  you  had  not 
seen  her." 

"  I  did  not  seek  to  convey  such  an  impression,  Clarence ;  I 
simply  spoke  to  the  point,  and  spoke  with  literal  exactitude." 

"  You  have  a  legal  proficiency  in  language,"  was  the  sarcastic 
comment.  "But  for  this  I  should  probably  have  heard  the 
whole  truth.  What  good  reason  was  there  why  you  should  be 
so  partial  in  your  revelations?  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  all?" 

"  To  answer  you  frankly,  Clarence,"  replied  the  other,  with 
the  air  of  a  man  unbuttoning  his  bosom  to  the  examination  of 
the  world — "  I  found  you  jealous  and  suspicious  on  this  subject 
— in  just  the  mood  to  convert  the  least  important  circumstance 
into  a  cause  of  doubt  and  dissatisfaction ;  and,  therefore,  I  with- 
held from'  you  a  fact  which,  however  innocent  in  itself,  and  un- 
worthy of  consideration,  I  was  yet  well  aware,  in  your  mood  of 
mind,  would  assume  an  importance  and  character  which  justly  it 
could  not  merit.  Besides,  Clarence,  there  were  so  many  sub- 
jects of  far  more  interest  to  my  mind,  of  which  we  had  no 
speech,  that  I  did  not  care  to  dwell  upon  the  matter  longer  than 
was  necessary.  You  forget,  Clarence,  that  I  had  not  seen  you 
for  months  before  this  meeting." 

The  suspicions  of  the  younger  were  in  no  respect  disarmed  or 
lessened  by  this  explanation.  Edward  Conway  had  somewhat 
overshot  his  mark  when  he  spoke  so  slightingly  of  a  subject  to 
which  Clarence  attached  so  high  an  importance.  The  latter 
could  not  believe  in  the  indifference  which  the  other  expressed 
in  reference  to  one  so  dear  to  himself  as  Flora  Middleton ;  and, 
in  due  degree  as  he  felt  the  probability  that  so  much  merit  as  he 
esteemed  that  maiden  to  possess,  could  not  fail  to  awaken  the 
tender  passion  in  all  who  beheld  her,  so  was  he  now  inclined  to 
consider  the  declaration  of  his  kinsman  as  an  hypocrisy  equally 


THE   KINSMEN.  43 

gross  and  shallow.  He  resolved,  internally,  that  he  should  nei- 
ther deceive  his  judgment  nor  disarm  his  watchfulness ;  that, 
while  he  himself  forbore  reproaches  of  every  sort,  which,  indeed, 
at  that  moment,  would  have  seemed  ungenerous  and  ungracious, 
he  would  endeavor  to  maintain  a  surveillance  over  his  rival's 
movements,  which  would  at  least  defeat  such  of  his  machinations 
as  might  otherwise  tend  to  beguile  from  himself  the  affections 
of  the  beloved  object.  The  closing  words  of  Edward  Conway 
suggested  a  natural  change  of  the  subject,  of  which  Clarence 
quickly  availed  himself. 

"You  remind  me,  Edward  Conway,  that,  though  we  have 
spoken  of  various  and  interesting  subjects,  you  have  not  yet 
given  me  the  information  which  I  sought,  on  any.  The  one 
most  important  to  both  of  us,  Edward  Conway — to  our  father's 
family,  to  the  name  we  bear,  and  the  position  we  should  equally 
sustain,  as  well  to  the  past  a&  to  the  future,  in  the  eye  of  our 
country — is  that  of  your  present  public  course.  On  that  sub- 
ject you  have  told  me  nothing.  Of  your  position  in  this  con- 
flict I  know  nothing ;  and  what  little  reaches  my  ears  from  the 
lips  of  others,  is  painfully  unfavorable.  Nay,  more,  Edward 
Conway,  I  am  constrained  to  think,  and  I  say  it  in  bitterness 
and  sadness,  that  what  you  have  said,  in  reply  to  my  frequent 
and  earnest  inquiries  on  this  point,  has  seemed  to  me  intended 
rather  to  evade  than  to  answer  my  demands.  I  can  not  divest 
myself  of  the  conviction  that  you  have  spoken  on  this  subject 
with  as  careful  a  suppression  of  the  whole  truth,  as  this  morning 
when  you  gave  me  the  assurance  with  regard  to  Flora  Middle- 
ton." 

A  heavy  cloud  darkened,  though  for  a  moment  only,  the  face 
of  the  elder  Conway. 

"  There  are  some  very  strong  prejudices  against  me  in  your 
mind,  Clarence,  or  it  would  not  be  difficult  for  you  to  under- 
stand how  I  might  very  naturally  have  secrets  which  should  not 
be  revealed,  and  yet  be  engaged  in  no  practices  which  would 
either  hurt  my  own,  or  the  honor  of  my  family." 

"  This  I  do  not  deny,  Edward,  however  suspicious  it  may 
seem  that  such  secrets  should  be  withheld  from  an  only  brother, 
whose  faith  you  have  never  yet  found  reason  to  suspect ;  whose 


44  THE  SCOUT. 

prudence  you  have  never  found  occasion  to  distrust.  But  I  do 
not  ask  for  any  of  your  secrets.  I  should  scorn  myself  for  ever 
did  I  feel  a  single  desire  to  know  that  which  you  have  any  good 
reason  to  withhold  from  me.  It  is  only  that  I  may  defend  you 
from  injustice — from  slander — from  the  suspicions  of  the  true 
and  the  worthy — that  I  would  be  fortified  by  a  just  knowledge 
of  your  objects  and  pursuits.  Surely,  there  can  be  no  good  rea- 
son to  withhold  this  knowledge,  if  what  you  do  is  sanctioned  by 
propriety  and  the  cause  for  which  we  are  all  in  arms." 

"  It  is  sanctioned  by  the  cause  for  which  we  are  in  arms,"  re- 
plied the  other,  hastily.  "  Have  I  not  assured  you  that  I  am  no 
traitor — that  my  fidelity  to  my  country  is  not  less  pure  and  per- 
fect than  your  own  ?  The  slanderer  will  defame  and  the  credu- 
lous will  believe,  let  us  labor  as  we  may.  I  take  no  heed  of 
these — I  waste  no  thought  on  such  profitless  matters  ;  and  you, 
Clarence,  will  save  yourself  much  pain,  and  me  much  annoying 
conjecture,  if  you  will  resolve  to  scorn  their  consideration  with 
myself,  and  cast  them  from  your  mind.  Give  them  no  concern. 
Believe  me  to  be  strangely  and  awkwardly  placed;  but  not 
criminal — not  wilfully  and  perversely  bent  on  evil.  Is  not 
this  enough  ?  What  more  shall  I  say  1  Would  you  have  me  — 
your  elder  brother — bearing  the  same  name  with  yourself — de- 
clare to  you,  in  words,  that  I  am  not  the  black-hearted,  blood- 
thirsty, reckless  monster,  which  these  wide-mouthed  creatures, 
these  blind  mouths  and  bitter  enemies,  proclaim  me  ?" 

"  But  why  are  these  men  of  Butler  your  enemies  ]  They  are 
not  the  enemies  of  your  country." 

"  I  know  not  that,"  said  the  other  hastily. 

"Your  doubt  does  them  gross  injustice,"  replied  Clarence 
Conway,  with  increased  earnestness;  "they  are  known  men — 
tried  and  true — and  whatever  may  be  their  excesses  and  vio- 
lence, these  are  owing  entirely  to  the  monstrous  provocation 
they  have  received.  How  can  it  be,  Edward,  that  you  have 
roused  these  men  to  such  a  degree  of  hostility  against  yourself  ? 
They  bear  to  you  no  ordinary  hate — they  speak  of  you  in  no 
ordinary  language  of  denunciation — " 

"  My  dear  Clarence,"  said  the  other,  "  you  seem  to  forget  all 
the  while,  that  they  never  spoke  of  me  at  all — certainly  not  by 


THE   KINSMEN.  45 

name.  They  know  me  not — they  have  most  assuredly  con- 
founded me  with  another.  Even  if  I  were  indeed  the  person 
whom  they  hate,  to  answer  your  questions  would  be  no  easy 
matter.  As  well  might  I  undertake  to  show  why  there  are 
crime  and  injustice  in  the  world,  as  why  there  are  slander  and 
suspicion.  These  are  plants  that  will  grow,  like  joint- grass,  in 
every  soil,  weed  and  work  at  them  as  you  may." 

"  It  is  nevertheless  exceedingly  strange,  Edward,"  was  the 
musing  answer  of  the  still  unsatisfied  Clarence ;  "  it  is  strange 
how  any  set  of  men  should  make  such  a  mistake." 

"  The  strangest  thing  of  all  is,  that  my  own  brother  should 
think  it  so.  Why  should  you  ?" 

"  Should  I  not  1 

"Wherefore? — You  can  not  believe  that  I  am,  indeed,  what 
they  allege  me  to  be — the  chief  of  the  Black  Eiders — that 
dreaded  monster — half-man,  half-dragon — who  slays  the  men, 
swallows  the  children,  and  flies  off  with  the  damsels.  Ha  !  ha ! 
ha !  Really,  Clarence,  I  am  afraid  you  are  as  credulous  now  at 
twenty-five  as  you  were  at  five." 

"It  is  not  that  I  believe,  Edward  Conway.  If  I  did, , the 
name  of  my  father,  which  you  bear,  had  not  saved  your  life. 
But,  why,  again,  are  you  suspected  ?  Suspicion  follows  no  ac- 
tions that  are  not  doubtful — it  dogs  no  footsteps  which  are 
straightforward — it  haunts  no  character,  the  course  of  which 
has  been  direct  and  unequivocal  ?  My  unhappiness  is  that  you 
have  made  yourself  liable  to  be  confounded  with  the  criminal, 
because  you  have  not  been  seen  with  the  innocent.  You  are 
not  with  us,  and  the  natural  presumption  is  that  you  are  with 
our  enemies." 

"  I  should  not  care  much  for  the  idle  gabble  of  these  country 
geese,  Clarence,  but  that  you  should  echo  their  slanders — that 
you  should  join  in  the  hiss  !" 

This  was  spoken  with  the  air  of  mortified  pride,  such  as  might 
be  supposed  the  natural  emotion  of  every  honorable  spirit,  as- 
sailed by  the  doubts  of  friend  or  kinsman. 

"I  do  not — all  I  demand  of  you  is  that  confidence  which 
would  enable  me  to  silence  it." 

"As  well  attempt  to  silence  the  storm.     The  attempt  would 


46  THE  SCOUT. 

be  idle ;  and,  if  made,  where  should  we  begin  1  What  suspicion 
must  I  first  dissipate  1  Whose  poisonous  breath  must  I  first  en- 
counter ?  This  story  of  the  Black  Riders,  for  example  —  do  you 
really  believe,  Clarence,  in  the  alleged  existence  of  this  ban- 
ditti r 

"I  do  !  — I  can  not  believe  otherwise." 

"  Impossible !  I  doubt  it  wholly.  These  dastardly  fellows 
of  Butler  have  fancied  half  the  terrors  they  describe.  Their 
fears  'have  magnified  their  foes,  and  I  make  no  question  they 
have  slandered  as  civil  a  set  of  enemies  as  ever  had  a  profes- 
sional sanction  for  thro  at- cutting.  Really,  Clarence,  the  very 
extravagance  of  these  stories  should  save  you  from  belief ;  and 
I  must  say,  if  you  do  believe,  that  a  little  more  of  the  brotherly 
love  which  you  profess,  should  keep  you  from  supposing  me  to 
be  the  savage  monster  of  whom  they  give  such  horrid  traits  in 
the  chief  of  this  Black  banditti.  My  very  appearance — in 
our  youth,  Clarence,  considered  not  very  much  unlike  your  own 
— should  save  me  from  these  suspicions.  See! — my  skin  is 
rather  fair  than  dark ;  and  as  for  the  mass  of  hair  which  is  said 
to  decorate  the  chin,  and  the  black  shock  which  surrounds  the 
face  of  the  formidable  outlaw — none  who  looks  at  my  visage 
will  fancy  that  Esau  could  ever  claim  me  for  his  kinsman.  My 
vanity,  indeed,  is  quite  as  much  touched  as  my  honor,  Clarence, 
that  my  smooth  visage  should  suffer  such  cruel  mirepresenta- 
tion." 

And  as  the  speaker  concluded  this  rhapsody,  his  eye  suddenly 
wandered  from  that  of  the  person  he  addressed,  and  rested  upon, 
the  belt  which  encircled  his  own  body  —  a  belt  of  plain  black 
leather,  secured  by  an  ordinary  iron  buckle,  painted  of  the  same 
color,  and  freshly  varnished.  An  uneasy  upward  glance,  at  this 
moment,  encountered  that  of  his  kinsman,  whose  eyes  had  evi- 
dently followed  his  own,  to  the  examination  of  the  same  object. 
In  this  single  glance  and  instant,  it  seemed  that  the  moral  chasm 
which  had  always  existed  between  their  souls,  had  yawned  wider 
and  spread  farther  than  before.  There  was  a  mutual  instinct 
where  there  was  no  mutual  sympathy.  The  disquiet  of  the  one, 
and  the  doubts  of  the  other,  were  reawakened  ;  and  though  nei- 
ther spoke,  yet  both  understood  the  sudden  difficulties  of  further 


THE   KINSMEN.  47 

4 

speech  between  them.  Another  voice,  at  this  moment,  broke 
the  silence,  which  it  did  not  however  relieve  of  any  of  that  pain- 
ful pressure  which  the  interview  possessed  over  both  the  inter- 
ested parties.  The  impatience  of  the  worthy  woodman  had 
brought  him  sufficiently  nigh  to  hear  some  of  the  last  words  of 
the  elder  kinsman. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  bluntly,  "  if  long  talking  can  make  any  case 
cl'ar,  then  it's  pretty  sartin,  Edward  Conway,  that  they've 
mightily  belied  you.  What  you  say  is  very  true  about  skin, 
and  face,  and  complexion,  and  all  that.  Naterally,  you  ha'n't 
no  great  deal  of  beard,  and  your  shock,  as  it  stands,  wouldn't  be 
a  sarcumstance  alongside  of  the  colonel's  or  my  own.  But  I've 
hearn  of  contrivances  to  help  natur  in  sich  a  matter.  I've  hearn 
of  livin'  men,  and  livin'  women  too,  that  dressed  themselves  up 
in  the  sculps  of  dead  persons,  and  made  a  mighty  pretty  figger 
of  hair  for  themselves,  when,  naterally  they  had  none.  Now, 
they  do  say,  that  the  Black  Riders  does  the  same  thing.  No- 
body that  I've  ever  hearn  speak  of  them,  ever  said  that  the  sculps 
was  nateral  that  they  had  on ;  and  the  beards,  too,  would  come 
and  go,  jist  according  to  the  company  they  want  to  keep.  It's 
only  a  matter  of  ten  days  ago — the  time  you  may  remember, 
by  a  mighty  ugly  run  you  had  of  it  from  these  same  boys  of 
Butler — that  I  was  a-going  over  the  same  ground,  when,  what 
should  I  happen  to  see  in  the  broad  track  but  one  of  these  same 
changeable  sculps — the  sculp  for  the  head  and  the  sculp  for  the 
chin,  and  another  sculp  that  don't  look  altogether  so  nateral, 
that  must  ha'  gone  somewhere  about  the  mouth,  though  it  must 
ha'  been  mighty  onpleasant,  a-tickling  of  the  nostrils ;  for  you 
see,  if  I  knows  anything  of  human  natur,  or  beast  natur,  this 
sculp  come,  at  first,  from  the  upper  side  of  a  five  year  old  fox- 
squirrel,  one  of  the  rankest  in  all  the  Santee  country.  I  knew 
by  the  feel  somewhat,  and  a  little  more  by  the  smell.  Now, 
Mr.  Edward  Conway,  if  you'll  jist  look  at  these  here  fixin's,  you 
won't  find  it  so  hard  to  believe  that  a  fair-skinned  man  mout 
wear  a  black  sculp  and  a  mighty  dark  complexion  onderneath, 
if  so  be  the  notion  takes  him.  Seein's  believing.  I  used  to 
think,  before  we  went  out,  that  it  was  all  an  ole  woman's  story, 
but  as  sure  as  a  gun,  I  found  these  sarcumstaiices,  jist  as  you 


48  THE  SCOUT. 

see  'em,  on  the  broad  path  down  to  the  Wateree ;  and  I  reckon 
that's  a  strong  sarcumstance,  by  itself,  to  make  me  think  they 
was  made  for  something,  and  for  somebody  to  wear.  But  that's 
only  my  notion.  I  reckon  it's  easy  enough,  in  sich  times  as 
these,  for  every  man  to  find  a  different  way  of  thinking  when 
he  likes  to." 

The  articles  described  by  the  woodman  were  drawn  from  his 
bosom  as  he  spoke,  and  displayed  before  the  kinsmen.  The 
keen  eyes  of  Clarence,  now  doubly  sharpened  by  suspicion, 
seemed  disposed  to  pierce  into  the  very  soul  of  Edward  Conway. 
He,  however,  withstood  the  analysis  with  all  the  calm  fortitude 
of  a  martyr.  He  examined  the  several  articles  with  the  man- 
ner of  one  to  whom  they  were  entirely  new  and'  strange ;  and 
when  he  had  done,  quietly  remarked  to  the  deliberate  wood- 
man, that  he  had  certainly  produced  sufficient  evidence  to  satisfy 
him,  if  indeed  he  were  not  satisfied  before,  "  that  a  man,  disposed 
to  adopt  a  plan  of  concealment  and  disguise,  could  readily  find, 
or  make,  the  materials  to  do  so." 

"  But  this,  Clarence,"  said  he,  turning  to  his  kinsman,  "  this 
has  nothing  to  do  with  what  I  was  saying  of  myself.  It  does 
not  impair  the  assurance  which  I  made  you — " 

Clarence  Conway,  who  had  been  closely  examining  the  arti- 
cles, without  heeding  his  brother,  demanded  of  the  woodman 
why  he  had  not  shown  them  to  him  before. 

"  Well,  colonel,  you  see  I  didn't  find  them  ontil  the  second 
day  after  the  chase,  when  you  sent  me  up,  to  scout  along  the 
hills." 

"  Enough  ! — Bring  up  the  horses." 

"  Both  ?"  asked  the  woodman,  with  some  anxiety. 

"  Yes  !     I  will  ride  a  little  way  with  my  brother." 

The  horses  were  brought  in  a  few  moments  from  the  mouth 
of  a  gorge  which  ran  between  the  hills  at  the  foot  of  which  they 
stood.  The  promptness  of  the  woodman's  movements  prevent- 
ed much  conversation,  meanwhile,  between  the  kinsmen ;  nor 
did  either  of  them  appear  to  desire  it.  The  soul  of  Clarence 
was  full  of  a  new  source  of  disquiet  and  dread ;  while  the  ap- 
prehensions of  Edward  Conway,  if  entirely  of  another  sort,  were 
yet  too  active  to  permit  of  his  very  ready  speech.  As  the  kins- 


THE   KINSMEN.  49 

men  were    preparing  to  mount,  Supple  Jack   interposed,  and 
drew  his  superior  aside. 

"  Well,  that's  the  matter  now  ]""  demanded  Clarence  impatient- 
ly. "  Speak  quickly,  Jack — the  storm  is  at  hand — the  rain  is 
already  falling." 

"  Yes,  and  that's  another  reason  for  your  taking  to  the  swamp 
ag'in.  In  three  hours  the  hills  will  tell  a  story  of  every  step 
that  your  horse  is  taking." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?" 

"  Why,  matter  enough,  if  the  tories  are  on  the  look  out  for 
us,  which  I'm  duVous  is  pretty  much  the  case.  I  didn't  al- 
together like  the  signs  I  fell  in  with  on  the  last  scout,  and  if  so 
be  that  Edward  Conway  is  one  of  these  Black  Riders,  then  it's 
good  reason  to  believe  they'll  be  looking  after  him  in  the  place 
where  they  lost  him." 

"Pshaw,  no  more  of  this,"  said  the  other  angrily. 

"  Well,  Clarence,  you  may  '  pshaw'  it  to  me  as  much  as  you 
please,  only  I'm  mighty  sartain,  in  your  secret  heart,  you  don't 
'  pshaw'  it  to  yourself.  It's  a  strange  business  enough,  and  it's 
not  onreasonable  in  me  to  think  so  —  seeing  what  I  have  seen, 
and  knowing  what  I  know.  Now  that  Butler's  boys  are  gone 
upward,  these  fellows  will  swarm  thick  as  grasshoppers  in  all 
this  country ;  and  it's  my  notion,  if  you  will  go,  that  you  should 
keep  a,  sharp  eye  in  your  head,  and  let  your  dogs  bark  at  the 
first  wink  of  danger.  I'm  dub'ous  you're  running  a  mighty 
great  risk  011  this  side  of  the  Wateree.  There's  no  telling 
where  Marion  is  jist  at  this  time ;  and  there's  a  rumor  that 
Watson's  on  the  road  to  jine  Rawdon.  Some  say  that  Raw- 
don's  going  to  leave  Camden,  and  call  in  his  people  from  Ninety- 
Six  and  Augusta ;  and  if  so,  this  is  the  very  pazrt  of  the  country 
where  there's  the  best  chance  of  meeting  him  and  all  of  them. 
I  wouldn't  ride  far,  Clarence ;  and  I'd  ride  fast ;  and  I'd  git 
back  as  soon  as  horseflesh  could  bring  me.  Sorrel  is  in  full 
blood  now,  and  he'll  show  the  cleanest  heels  in  the  country,  at 
t^ie  civillest  axing  of  the  spur." 

"  You  are  getting  as  timnJ,  Jack,  as  you  are  suspicious,"  said 
the  youth  kindly,  and  with  an  effort  at  composure,  which  was 
not  successful.  "  Age  is  coming  upon  you,  and  I  fear,  before 

3 


50  THE   SCOUT. 

the  campaign  is  over,  you'll  be  expecting  to  be  counted  among 
the  non-combatants.  Don't  apprehend  for  me,  Jack;  I  will 
return  before  midnight.  Keep  up  your  scout,  and  get  a  stouter 
heart  at  work — you  couldn't  have  a  better  one." 

"  That's  to  say,  Clarry,  that  I'm  a  durn'd  good-natered  fool 
for  my  pains.  I  onderstands  you — " 

The  rest  was  lost  to  the  ears  of  Clarence  Conway,  in  the  rush 
of  his  own  and  the  steed  of  his  companion. 

The  worthy  scout,  however,  continued  the  speech  even  after 
the  departure  of  all  hearers. 

"But,  fool  or  not,  I'll  look  after  you,  as  many  a  fool  before 
has  looked  after  a  wiser  man,  and  been  in  time  to  save  him 
when  he  couldn't  save  himself.  As  for  you,  Ned  Conway,"  he 
continued  in  brief  soliloquy,  and  with  a  lifted  finger,  "  you  may 
draw  your  skairts  over  the  eyes  of  Clarence,  but  it'll  take  thicker 
skairts  than  yourn  to  blind  Jack  Bannister.  You  couldn't  do  it 
altogether  when  we  war  boys  together,  and  I'm  a  thinking — 
it'll  be  a  mighty  onbecoming  thing  to  me,  now  that  I'm  a  man, 
if  I  should  let  you  be  any  more  successful.  Well,  here  we 
stand.  The  thing's  to  be  done ;  the  game's  to  be  played  out ; 
and  .the  stakes,  Ned  Conway,  must  be  my  head  agin  yourn. 
The  game's  a  fair  one  enough,  and  the  head  desarves  to  lose  it, 
that  can't  keep  rts  place  on  the  shoulders  where  God  put  it." 

With  this  conclusive  philosophy,  the  scout  tightened  his  belt 
about  his  waist,  threw  up  his  rifle,  the  flint  and  priming  of 
which  he  carefully  examined,  then,  disappeared  for  a  brief  space 
among  the  stunted  bushes  that  grew  beside  the  swamp  thicket. 
He  emerged  soon  after,  leading  a  stout  Cherokee  pony,  which 
had  been  contentedly  ruminating  among  the  cane-tops.  Mount- 
ing this  animal,  which  was  active  and  sure-footed,  he  set  off  in 
a  smart  canter  upon  the  track  pursued  by  his  late  companions, 
just  as  the  rainstorm,  which  had  been  for  some  time  threatening, 
began  to  discharge  the  hoarded  torrents  of  several  weeks  upon 
the  parched  and  thirsting  earth. 


THE   BLACK   EIDERS   OF   CONGAREE.  51 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    BLACK    RIDERS    OF    CONGAREE. 

WHILE  the  kinsmen  were  about  to  leave  the  banks  of  the 
Wateree,  for  the  Santee  hills  beyond,  there  were  other  parties 
among  those  hills,  but  a  few  miles  distant,  preparing  to  move 
down,  on  the  same  road,  toward  the  Wateree.  The  eye  of  the 
skulking  woodman  may  have  seen,  toward  nightfall,  a  motley 
and  strange  group  of  horsemen,  some  sixty  or  seventy  in  num- 
ber, winding  slowly  down  the  narrow  gorges,  with  a  degree  of 
cautious  watchfulness,  sufficient  to  make  them  objects  of  sus- 
picion, even  if  the  times  were  not  of  themselves  enough  to  ren- 
der all  things  so.  The  unwonted  costume  of  these  horsemen 
was  equally  strange  and  calculated  to  inspire  apprehension.  They 
were  dressed  in  complete  black — each  carried  broadsword  and 
pistols,  and  all  the  usual  equipments  of  the  well-mounted  dra- 
goon. The  belt  around  the  waist,  the  cap  which  hung  loosely 
upon  the  brow ;  the  gloves,  the  sash — all  were  oistinguished  by 
the  same  gloomy  aspect.  Their  horses  alone,  various  in  size 
and  color,  impaired  the  effect  of  this  otherwise  general  uniform- 
ity. Silently  they  kept  upon  their  way,  like  the  shadows  of 
some  devoted  band  of  the  olden  time,  destined  to  reappear,  and 
to  reoccupy,  at  certain  periods  of  the  night,  the  scenes  in  which 
they  fought  and  suffered.  Their  dark,  bronzed  visages,  at  a 
nearer  approach,  in  nowise  served  to  diminish  the  general  sever- 
ity of  their  appearance.  Huge,  bushy  beards,  hung  from  every 
chin,  in  masses  almost  weighty  enough  to  rival  the  dense  forests 
which  are  worn,  as  a  matter  of  taste,  at  the  present  day,  in  the 
same  region,  by  a  more  pacific  people.  The  mustache  ran  lux- 
uriant above  the  mouth,  greatly  cherished,  it  would  seem,  if  not 
cultivated ;  for  no  attempt  appeared  to  be  made  by  the  wearer, 
to  trim  and  curl  the  pampered  growth,  after  the  fashion  of  Rus- 
sians and  Mussulmans.  The  imperial  tuft  below,  like  that  which 


62  THE   SCOUT. 

decorates  so  appropriately  the  throat  of  the  turkey,  seemed  de- 
signed, in  the  case  of  each  of  our  sable  riders,  to  emulate  in 
length  and  dimensions,  if  not  in  fitness,  that  of  the  same  preten- 
tious bird.  Some  of  these  decorations  were,  doubtlessly,  like 
those  which  became  the  spoil  of  our  worthy  woodman  in  a  pre- 
vious chapter,  of  artificial  origin ;  but  an  ecjual  number  were 
due  to  the  bounteous  indulgence  of  Dame  Nature  herself.  Of 
the  troop  in  question,  and  their  aspects,  something  more  might 
be  said.  They  had  evidently,  most  of  them,  seen  service  in  the 
"imminent  deadly  breach."  Ugly  scars  were  conspicuous  on 
sundry  faces,  in  spite  of  the  extensive  foliage  of  beard,  which 
strove  vainly  to  conceal  them ;  and  the  practised  ease  of  their 
horsemanship,  the  veteran  coolness  which  marked  their  deliber- 
ate and  watchful  movements,  sufficiently  declared  the  habitual 
and  well-appointed  soldier. 

Still,  there  was  not  so  much  of  that  air  of  military  subordina- 
tion among  them  which  denotes  the  regular  service.  They  were 
not  what  we  call  regulars — men  reduced  to  the  conditions  of 
masses,  and  obeying,  in  mass,  a  single  controlling  will.  They 
seemed  to  be  men,  to  whom  something  of  discipline  was  relaxed 
in  consideration  of  other  more  valuable  qualities  of  valor  and 
forward  enterprise,  for  which  they  might  be  esteemed.  Though 
duly  observant  not  to  do  anything  which  might  yield  advantage 
to  an  enemy,  prowling  in  the  neighborhood,  still,  this  caution 
was  not  so  much  the  result  of  respect  for  their  leader,  as  the 
natural  consequence  of  their  own  experience,  and  the  individual 
conviction  of  each  of  what  was  due  to  the  general  safety.  They 
were  not  altogether  silent  as  they  rode,  and  when  they  addressed 
their  superiors,  there  was  none  of  that  nice  and  blind  deference 
upon  which  military  etiquette,  among  all  well-ordered  bodies  of 
men,  so  imperatively  insists.  The  quip  and  crack  were  freely 
indulged  in — the  ribald  jest  was  freely  spoken;  and,  if  the 
ribald  song  remained  unsung,  it  was  simply  because  of  a  becom- 
ing apprehension  that  its  melodies  might  reach  other  ears  than 
their  own. 

Their  leader,  if  he  might  be  so  considered,  to  whom  they 
turned  for  the  small  amount  of  guidance  which  they  seemed  to 
need,  was  scarcely  one  of  the  most  attractive  among  their  num- 


THE  BLACK  RIDERS  OF  CONGAREE.  53 

ber.  He  was  a  short,  thick  set,  dark-looking  person,  whose 
stern  and  inflexible  features  were  never  lightened  unless  by- 
gleams  of  anger  and  ferocity.  He  rode  at  their  head,  heard  in 
silence  the  most  that  was  said  by  those  immediately  about  him, 
and  if  he  gave  any  reply,  it  was  uttered  usually  in  a  cold,  con- 
clusive monosyllable.  His  dark  eye  was  turned  as  frequently 
upward  to  the  lowering  skies  as  along  the  path  he  travelled. 
Sometimes  he  looked  back  upon  his  troop — and  occasionally 
halted  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  till  the  last  of  his  band  had  appeared 
in  sight  above.  His  disposition  to  taciturnity  was  not  offensive 
to  those  to  whom  he  permitted  a  free  use.  of  that  speech  in  which 
he  did  not  himself  indulge ;  and,  without  heeding  his  phlegm, 
his  free  companions  went  on  without  any  other  restraint  than 
arose  from  their  own  sense  of  what  was  due  to  caution  in  an  en- 
emy's country. 

Beside  the  leader,  at  moments,  rode  one  who  seemed  to  be 
something  of  a  favorite  with  him,  and  who  did  not  scruple,  at 
all  times  to  challenge  the  attention  of  his  superior.  He  was 
one — perhaps  the  very  youngest  of  the  party — whose  quick,  ac- 
tive movements,  keen  eyes,  and  glib  utterance,  declared  him  to 
belong  to  the  class  of  subtler  spirits  who  delight  to  manage  the 
more  direct,  plodding,  and  less  ready  of  their  race.  It  is  not 
improbable  that  he  possessed  some  such  influence  over  the  per- 
son whom  we  have  briefly  described,  of  which  the  latter  was 
himself  totally  unconscious.  Nothing  in  the  deportment  of  the 
former  would  have  challenged  a  suspicion  of  this  sort.  Though 
he  spoke  freely  and  familiarly,  yet  his  manner,  if  anything,  was 
much  more  respectful  than  that  generally  of  his  companions. 
This  man  was  evidently  a  close  observer,  as  even  his  most  care- 
less remarks  fully  proved ;  and  the  glances  of  disquiet  which 
the  leader  cast  about  him,  at  moments,  as  he  rode,  did  not  es- 
cape his  notice.  Upon  these  he  did  not  directly  comment.  His 
policy,  of  course,  did  not  suffer  him  so  greatly  to  blunder  as  to 
assume  that  a  lieutenant,  or  captain,  of  dragoons  could  be  dis- 
quieted by  any  thing.  When  he  spoke,  therefore,  even  when 
his  purpose  was  counsel  or  suggestion,  he  was  careful  that  his 
language  should  not  indicate  his  real  purpose.  We  take  up  the 
dialogue  between  the  parties  at  a  moment,  when,  pausing  at  the 


54  THE  SCOUT. 

bottom  of  one  hill,  and  about  to  commence  the  ascent  of  anoth- 
er, the  leader  of  the  squad  cast  a  long  thoughtful  glance  sky- 
ward, and  dubiously,  but  unconsciously,  shook  his  head  at  the 
survey. 

"  We  are  like  to  have  the  storm  on  our  backs,  lieutenant,  be- 
fore we  can  get  to  a  place  of  shelter ;  and  I'm  thinking  if  we 
don't  look  out  for  quarters  before  it  comes  down  in  real  earnest, 
there'll  be  small  chance  of  our  finding  our  way  afterward.  The 
night  will  be  here  in  two  hours  and  a  mighty  dark  one  it  will 
be,  I'm  thinking." 

The  lieutenant  again  looked  forward,  and  upward,  and  around 
him,  and  a  slight  grunt,  which  was  half  a  sigh,  seemed  to  ac- 
knowledge the  truth  of  the  other's  observations. 

"  I  doubt,"  continued  the  first  speaker,  "  if  our  drive  to-day 
will  be  any  more  lucky  than  before.  I'm  afraid  it's  all  over 
with  the  captain." 

Another  grunt  in  the  affirmative;  and  the  subordinate  pro- 
ceeded with  something  more  of  confidence. 

"  But  there's  no  need  that  we  should  keep  up  the  hunt  in  such 
a  storm  as  is  coming  on.  Indeed,  there's  but  little  chance  of 
finding  anybody  abroad  but  ourselves  in  such  weather.  I'm  think- 
ing, lieutenant,  that  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  notion  to  turn  our  heads 
and  canter  off  to  old  Muggs's  at  once." 

"  Old  Muggs  !  why  how  far  d'ye  think  he's  off?" 

"  Not  three  miles,  as  I  reckon.  We've  gone  about  seven  from 
Oantey's,  he's  only  eight  to  the  right,  and  if  we  take  a  short  cut 
that  lies  somewhere  in  this  quarter — I  reckon  I  can  find  it  soon 
— we'll  be  there  in  a  short  half  hour." 

"  Well !  you're  right — we'll  ride  to  Muggs's.  There's  no  use 
keeping  up  this  cursed  hunt  and  no  fun  in  it." 

"  Yes,  and  I  reckon  we  can  soon  make  up  our  minds  to  get 
another  captain." 

A  smirk  of  the  lips,  which  accompanied  this  sentence,  was 
intended  to  convey  no  unpleasant  signification  to  the  ears  of  his 
superior. 

"  How,  Darcy — how  is  it — have  you  sounded  them  ?  What 
do  they  say  now  ]"  demanded  the  latter  with  sudden  earnest- 
ness. 


THE  BLACK  RIDERS  OF  CONGAREE.  55 

"  Well,  lieutenant,  I  reckon  we  can  manage  it  pretty  much 
as  we  please.  That's  my  notion." 

"  You  think  so  ?  Some  of  them  have  a  strange  liking  for 
Morton." 

"  Yes,  but  not  many,  and  they  can  be  cured  of  that."  , 

'  Enough,  then,  till  we  get  to  Muggs's.  Then  we  can  talk  it 
over.  But  beware  of  what  you  say  to  him.  Muggs  is  no  friend 
of  mine,  you  know." 

"  Nor  is  he  likely  to  be,  so  long  as  he  wears  that  scar  on  his 
face  in  token  that  your  hand  is  as  heavy  as  your  temper  is  pas- 
sionate. He  remembers  that  blow  !" 

"  It  isn't  that,  altogether,"  replied  the  other ;  "  but  the  truth 
is,  that  we  English  are  no  favorites  here,  even  among  the  most 
loyal  of  this  people.  There 's  a  leaning  to  their  own  folks,  that 
always  gets  them  the  preference  when  we  oppose  them ;  and 
old  Muggs  has  never  been  slow  to  show  us  that  he  has  no  love 
to  spare  for  any  king's  man  across  the  wate^i?^  I  only  wonder, 
knowing  their  dislikes  as  I  do,  that  there's  a  single  loyalist  in 
the  colony.  These  fellows  that  ride  behind  us,  merciless  as 
they  have  ever  shown  themselves  in  a  conflict  with  the  rebels, 
yet  there 's  not  one  of  them  who,  in  a  pitched  battle  between 
one  of  us  and  one  of  them,  wouldn't  be  more  apt  to  halloo  for 
him  than  for  us.  Nothing,  indeed,  has  secured  them  to  the 
king's  side  but  the  foolish  violence  of  the  rebels,  which  wouldn't 
suffer  the  thing  to  work  its  own  way ;  and  began  tarring  and 
feathering  and  flogging  at  the  beginning  of  the  squabble.  Had 
they  left  it  to  time,  there  wouldn't  have  been  one  old  Muggs 
from  Cape  Fear  to  St.  Catharine's.  We  shouldn't  have  had 
such  a  troop  as  that  which  follows  us  now ;  nor  would  I,  this 
day,  be  hunting,  as  lieutenant  of  dragoons,  after  a  leader,  who — " 

"  Whom  we  shall  not  find  in  a  hurry,  and  whom  we  no  longer 
need,"  said  the  subordinate,  concluding  the  sentence  which  the 
other  had  partly  suppressed. 

"Policy!  policy!"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant.  "That  was 
Rawdon's  pretext  for  refusing  me  the  commission,  and  conferring 
it  upon  Morton.  He  belonged  to  some  great  family  on  the  Con- 
garee,  and  must  have  it  therefore ;  but,  now,  he  can  scarcely 
refuse  it,  if  it  be  as  we  suspect.  If  Morton  be  laid  by  the  heels, 


56  THE   SCOUT. 


* 

* 


even  as  a  prisoner,  he  is  dead  to  us.  The  rebels  will  never 
suffer  him  to  live  if  they  have  taken  him." 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  the  other;  "he  hasn't  the  first  chance. 
And  that  they  have  taken  him,  there  is  little  doubt  on  my  mind." 

"  Nor  on  mine.     What  follows  if  the  men  agree  ?" 

"  What  should  follow  1  The  friends  of  Morton  can  say  noth- 
ing. The  command  naturally  falls  into  your  hands  without  a 
word  said." 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  either.  There 's  some  of  them  that 
don't  care  much  about  Morton,  yet  don't  like  me." 

"Perhaps!  But,  what  of  that?  The  number's  not  many, 
and  we  can  put  them  down,  if  it  comes  to  any  open  opposition. 
But  we'll  see  to  that  this  very  night,  when  we  get  to  Muggs's." 

"  For  Muggs's,  then,  with  all  the  speed  we  may.  Take  the 
lead,  yourself,  Darcy,  and  see  after  this  short  cut.  You  know 
the  country  better  than  I.  We  must  use  spur,  if  we  would  es- 
cape the  storm^These  drops  are  growing  bigger,  and  falling 
faster,  every  monrfca^.  Go  ahead,  while  I  hurry  the  fellows  for- 
ward at  a  canter;  ancreven  that  will  barely  enable  us  to  save 
our  distance." 

"  It  matters  little  for  the  wetting,  lieutenant,  when  we  remem- 
ber what 's  to  follow  it.  Promotion  that  comes  by  water  is  not 
by  any  means  the  worse  for  the  wetting.  The  shine  gets  dim 
upon  the  epaulettes ;  %ut  they  are  epaulettes,  all  the  same. 
There's  the  profit,  lieutenant — the  profit!" 

"  Ay,  the  profit !  Yes,  that  will  reconcile  us  to  worse  weather 
than  this;  but — " 

/The  sentence  was  left  unfinished,  while  the  subordinate  rode 
ahead  and  out  of  hearing.  The  lieutenant  signalled  his  men,  as 
they  slowly  wound  down  the  hill,  to  quicken  pace ;  and  while 
he  watched  their  movements,  his  secret  thoughts  had  vented  in 
a  low  soliloquy. 

"  True !  the  event  will  reconcile  us  to  the  weather.  The 
prize  is  precious.  Power  is  always  precious.  But  here  the 
prize  is  something  more  than  power;  it  is  safety — it  is  freedom. 
If  Morton  is  laid  by  the  heels  for  ever,  I  am  safe.  I  escape  my 
danger — my  terror — the  presence  which  I  hate  and  fear !  I 
do  not  deceive  myself,  though  I  may  blind  these.  Edward 


THE   BLACK   RIDERS   OF   CONGAREE.  57 

Morton  was  one  in  whose  presence  I  shrunk  to  less  than  my  full 
proportions.  That  single  act — that  act.  of  shame  and  baseness 
— made  me  his  slave.  He,  alone,  knows  the  guilt  and  the  mean- 
ness of  that  wretched  moment  of  my  life.  God  !  what  would  I 
not  give  to  have  that  memory  obliterated  in  him  who  did,  and 
him  who  beheld,  the  deed  of  that  moment.  I  feel  my  heart 
tremble  at  his  approach — my  muscles  wither  beneath  his  glance; 
and  I,  who  fear  not  the  foe,  and  shrink  not  from  the  danger,  and 
whom  men  call  brave — brave  to  desperation — I  dare  not  lift 
my  eyes  to  the  encounter  with  those  of  another  having  limbs 
and  a  person  neither  stronger  nor  nobler  than  my  own.  He 
down,  and  his  lips, for  ever  closed,  and  I  am  free.  I  can  then 
breathe  in  confidence,  and  look  around  me  without  dreading  the 
glances  of  another  eye.  But,  even  should  he  live — should  he 
have  escaped  this  danger — why  should  I  continue  to  draw  my 
breath  in  fear,  when  a  single  stroke  may  make  my  safety  cer- 
tain— may  rid  me  of  every  doubt  —  every  a^rehensionl  It 
must  be  so.  Edward  Morton,  it  is  sworn.  In  your  life  my 
shame  lives,  and  while  your  lips  have  power  of  speech,  I  am  no 
moment  safe  from  dishonor.  Your  doom  is  written,  surely  and 
soon,  if  it  be  not  already  executed." 

These  words  were  only  so  many  indistinct  mutterings,  inau- 
dible to  those  who  followed  him.  He*  commanded  them  to 
approach,  quickened  their  speed,  and  the  whole  troop,  following 
his  example,  set  off  on  a  smart  canter  in  the  track  which  Darcy 
had  taken.  Meanwhile,  the  storm,  which  before  had  only 
threatened,  began  to  pour  down  its  torrents,  and  ere  they 
reached  the  promised  shelter  at  Muggs's  —  a  rude  cabin  of  pine 
logs,  to  which  all  direct  approach  was  impossible,  and  which 
none  but  an  initiate  could  have  found,  so  closely  was  it  buried 
among  the  dense  groves  that  skirted  the  river  swamp,  and  may 
have  formed  a  portion  of  its  primitive  domain.  Here  the  party 
came  to  a  full  halt,  but  the  object  at  which  they  aimed  appeared 
to  be  less  their  own  than  their  horses  and  equipments.  These 
were  conducted  into  yet  deeper  recesses,  where,  in  close  woods 
and  shrubbery,  in  which  art  had  slightly  assisted  nature,  they 
were  so  bestowed  as  to  suffer  only  slightly  from  the  storm. 
The  greater  portion  of  the  troop  took  shelter  in  the  cabin  of 

3* 


58 


THE  SCOUT. 


Muggs,  while  a  small  squad  still  kept  in  motion  around  the 
neighborhood,  heedless  of  the  weather,  and  quite  as  watchful 
from  long  habit,  as  if  totally  unconscious  of  any  annoyances. 

The  establishment  of  Muggs  was  one,  in  fact,  belonging  to 
the  party.  The  host  himself  was  a  retired  trooper,  whom  a 
wound  in  the  right  arm  had  so  disabled  that  amputation  became 
necessary.  Useless  to  the  troop  in  actual  conflict,  he  was  yet 
not  without  his  uses  in  the  position  which  he  held,  and  the  new 
duties  he  had  undertaken.  He  was  a  blunt,  fearless  old  soldier, 
a  native  of  the  neighborhood,  who,  being  maimed,  was  tolerated 
by  the  whigs  as  no  longer  capable  of  harm ;  and  suffered  to  re- 
main in  a  region  in  which  it  was  thought,  even  if  disposed  to  do 
mischief,  his  opportunities  were  too  few  to  make  his  doings  of 
very  serious  importance.  He  sold  strong  liquors,  also  —  did  not 
villanously  dilute  his  beverages— and,  as  he  made  no  distinc- 
tion between  his  customers,  and  provided  whigs  and  tories  at  the 
same  prices,  thefe  was  no  good  reason  to  expel  him  from  his 
present  position  by  way  of  punishing  him  for  a  course  of  conduct 
in  which  so  heavy  a  penalty  seemed  already  to  have  been  at- 
tached. He  was  prudent  enough — though  he  did  not  withhold 
his  opinions — to  express  them  without  warmth  or  venom  ;  and, 
as  it  was  well  known  to  the  patriots  that  he  had  never  been  a 
savage  or  blood-thirsty  enemy,  there  was  a  very  general  dispo- 
sition among  them  to  grant  him  every  indulgence.  Perhaps, 
however,  all  these  reasons  would  have  been  unavailing  in  his 
behalf,  at  the  sanguinary  period  of  which  we  write,  but  for  the 
excellence  of  his  liquors,  and  the  certainty  of  his  supply.  His 
relations  with  the  British  enabled  him  always  to  provide  himself 
at  Charleston,  and  every  public  convoy  replenished  his  private 
stores.  It  should  be  also  understood  that  none  of  the  whigs,  at 
any  moment,  suspected  the  worthy  landlord  of  a  previous  or 
present  connection  with  a  band  so  odious  as  that  of  the  Black 
Riders.  The  appearance  of  these  desperadoes  was  only  a  signal 
to  Muggs  to  take  additional  precautions.  As  we  have  already 
stated,  a  portion  of  the  band  was  sent  out  to  patrol  the  sur- 
rounding country ;  and  the  number  thus  despatched,  on  the 
present  occasion,  was,  by  the  earnest  entreaty  of  the  host,  made 
twice  as  large  as  the  lieutenant  thought  there  was  any  occasion 


THE  BLACK  ^RIDERS  OF   CONGAREE.  59 

for.  But  the  former  insisted,  with  characteristic  stubbornness, 
and  with  a  degree  of  sullenness  in  his  manner  which  was  foreign 
to  his  usual  custom. 

"  I  'm  not  over-pleased  to  see  you  here  at  all,  this  time, 
lieutenant,  though  I  reckon  you've  a  good  reason  enough  for 
coming.  There 's  a  sharp  stir  among  the  rebels  all  along  the 
Wateree,  and  down  on  the  Santee,  there 's  no  telling  you  how 
far.  As  for  the  Congarees,  it's  a-swarm  thar',  in  spite  of  all  Bill 
Cunningham  can  do,  and  he's  twice  as  spry  as  ever.  Here, 
only  two  days  ago,  has  been  that  creeping  critter,  Supple  Jack  ; 
that  come  in,  as  I  may  say,  over  my  shoulder,  like  the  old  Satan 
himself.  At  first  I  did  think  it  was  the  old  Satan,  till  he  laughed 
at  my  scare,  and  then  I  know'd  him  by  his  laugh..  Now,  it's 
not  so  easy  to  cheat  Supple  Jack,  and  he  knows  all  about  your 
last  coming.  He 's  willing  to  befriend  me,  though  he  gin  me 
fair  warning,  last  time  he  was  here,  that  I  was  suspicioned  for 
loving  you  too  well.  Now,  split  my  cedars;  men,  I  've  got 
mighty  little  reason  to  love  you — you  know  that — and  I'm 
thinking,  for  your  sake  and  mine  both,  the  sooner  you  draw  spur 
for  the  mountains,  the  smoother  will  be  the  skin  you  keep.  I 
don't  want  to  see  the  ugly  face  of  one  of  you  for  a  month  of 
Sundays." 

"Why,  Muggs — old  Muggs — getting  scared  in  the  very  be- 
ginning of  the  season  !  How 's  this  1 — what 's  come  over  you  V1 
was  the  demand  of  half  a  dozen. 

"  Tve  reason  to  be  scared,  when  I  know  that  hemp's  growing 
for  every  man  that's  keeping  bad  company.  Such  rapscallions 
as  you,  if -you  come  too  often,  would  break  up  the  best  'mug'  in 
the  country." 

The  landlord's  pun  was  innocent  enough,  and  seemed  an  old 
one.  It  awakened  110  more  smile  on  his  lips  than  upon  those  of 
his  guests.  It  was  spoken  in  serious  earnest.  He  continued  to 
belabor  them  with  half  playful  abuse,  mingled  with  not  a  few 
well-intended  reproaches,  while  providing,  with  true  landlord 
consideration,  for  their  several  demands.  The  Jamaica  rum 
was  put  in  frequent  requisition — a  choice  supply  of  lemons  was 
produced  from  a  box  beneath  the  floor,  and  the  band  was  soon 
broken  up  into  little  groups  that  huddled  about,  each  after  its 


60  THE  SCOUT* 

own  fashion,  in  the  several  corners  of  the  wigwam.  The  rain 
meanwhile  beat  upon,  and,  in  some  places,  through  the  roof — 
the  rush  of  .the  wind,  the  weight  of  the  torrent,  and  the  general 
darkness  of  the  scene,  led  naturally  to  a  considerably  relaxation 
even  of  that  small  degree  of  discipline  which  usually  existed 
among  the  troop.  Deep  draughts  were  swallowed  ;  loud  talking 
ensued,  frequent  oaths,  and  occasionally  a  sharp  dispute,  quali- 
fied by  an  equally  sharp  snatch  of  a  song  from  an  opposite  quar- 
ter, proved  all  parties  to  be  at  ease,  and  each  busy  to  his  own 
satisfaction. 

The  lieutenant  of  the  troop,  whom  we  have  just  seen  acting  in 
command,  was  perhaps  the  least  satisfied  of  any  of  the  party. 
Not  that  he  had  less  in  possession,  but  that  he  had  more  in 
hope.  He  suffered  the  jibe  and  the  song  to  pass ;  the  oath 
roused  him  not,  nor  did  he  seem  to  hear  the  thousand  and  one 
petty  disputes  that  gave  excitement  to  the  scene.  He  seemed 
disposed — and  this  may  have  been  a  part  of  his  policy — to 
release  his  men  from  all  the  restraints,  few  though  they  were, 
which  belonged  to  his  command.  But  his  policy  was  incom- 
plete. It  was  not  enough  that  he  should  confer  licentious  privi- 
leges upon  his  followers — to  secure  their  sympathies,  he  should 
have  made  himself  one  of  them.  He  should  have  given  himself 
a  portion  of  that  license  which  he  had  accorded  to  them.  But 
he  was  too  much  of  the  Englishman  for  that.  He  could  not  di- 
vest himself  of  that  haughty  bearing  which  was  so  habitual  in 
the  carriage  of  the  Englishman  in  all  his  dealings  with  the  pro- 
vincial, and  which,  we  suspect,  was,  though  undeclared,  one  of 
the  most  active  influences  to  provoke  the  high-spirited  people  of 
the  south  to  that  violent  severing  of  their  connection  with  the 
mother-country,  which  was  scarcely  so  necessary  in  their  case 
as  in  that  of  the  northern  colonies. 

Our  lieutenant — whose  name  was  Stockton — it  is  true, 
made  sundry,  but  not  very  successful  efforts,  to  blend  himself 
with  his  comrades.  He  shared  their  draughts,  he  sometimes 
yielded  his  ears  where  the  dialogue  seemed  earnest — sometimes 
he  spoke,  and  his  words  were  sufficiently  indulgent ;  but  he 
lacked  utterly  that  ease  of  carriage,  that  simplicity  of  manner, 
which  alone  could  prove  that  his  condescension  was  not  the  re- 


THE   BLACK   RIDERS   OF   CONGAREE.  61 

suit  of  effort,  and  against  the  desires  of  his  mind.  His  agent, 
Darcy,  was  more  supple  as  he  was  more  subtle.  He  was  not 
deficient  in  those  arts  which,  among  the  ignorant,  will  always 
secure  the  low.  He  drank  with  them,  as  if  he  could  not  well 
have  drunk  without  them — threw  himself  among  their  ranks, 
as  if  he  could  not  have  disposed  his  limbs  easily  anywhere  else ; 
and  did  for  his  superior  what  the  latter  could  never  have  done  / 
for  himself.  He  operated  sufficiently  on  the  minds  of  several  to 
secure  a  faction  in  his  favor,  and  thus  strengthened,  he  availed 
himself  of  the  moment  when  the  Jamaica  had  proved  some  por- 
tion of  its  potency,  to  broach  openly  the  subject  which  had 
hitherto  been  only  discussed  in  private. 

Of  the  entreaties,  the  arguments,  or  the  promises  made  by 
Ensign  Darcy  to  persuade  the  troop  into  his  way  of  thinking, 
we  shall  say  nothing.  It  will  be  sufficient  for  our  purpose  that 
we  show  the  condition  of  things  at  this  particular  juncture.  Con- 
siderable progress  had  now  been  made  with  the  subject.  It  had, 
in  fact,  become  the  one  subject  of  discussion.  The  person  whom 
it  more  immediately  concerned,  had,  prudently,  if  not  modestly, 
withdrawn  himself  from  the  apartment,  though  in  doing  so,  he 
necessarily  exposed  himself  to  some  encounter  with  the  pitiless 
storm.  The  various  groups  had  mingled  themselves  into  one. 
The  different  smaller  topics  which  before  excited  them,  had 
given  way  before  the  magnitude  of  this,  and  each  trooper -began 
to  feel  his  increased  importance  as  his  voice  seemed  necessary 
in  the  creation  of  so  great  a  personage  as  his  captain. 

So  far,  Darcy  had  no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied  with  his  per- 
formances. Assisted  by  the  Jamaica,  his  arguments  had  sunk 
deep  into  their  souls.  One  after  another  had  become  a  convert 
to  his  views,  and  he  was  just  about  to  flatter  himself  with  the 
conviction  that  he  should  soon  be  rejoiced  by  the  unanimous 
shout  which  should  declare  the  nomination  of  their  new  captain, 
when  another  party,  who  before  had  said  not  a  single  word,  now 
joined  in  the  discussion  after  a  manner  of  his  own.  This  was  no 
less  important  a  personage  than  Muggs,  the  landlord. 

"  Counting  sculps  before  you  take  'em  !  I  wonder  where  the 
dickens  you  was  brought  up,  Ensign  Darcy.  Here  now  you're 
for  making  a  new  cappin,  afore  you  know  what's  come  of  the 


62  THE  SCOUT. 

old.  You  reckon  Ned  Morton's  dead,  do  you  ?  I  reckon  he's 
alive  and  kicking.  I  don't  say  so,  mind  me.  I  wouldn't  swear 
sich  a  thing  on  Scripture  book,  but  I'm  so  nigh  sure  of  it,  that 
I'd  be  willing  to  swear  never  agin  to  touch  a  drop  of  the  stuff 
if  so  be  he  is  not  alive." 

"  But,  Muggs — if  he's  alive,  where  is  he  ?" 

*'  Gog's  wounds !  that's  easier  asked  than  answered ;  but  if 
we  go  to  count  for  dead  every  chap  that's  missing,  I'd  have  to 
go  in  mourning  mighty  often  for  the  whole  troop  of  you,  my 
chickens.  It's  more  reasonable  that  he's  alive  jist  because  we 
don't  hear  of  him.  We'd  ha'  hearn  of  him  soon  enough  if  the 
rebels  had  a  got  him.  We'd  ha'  seen  his  hide  upon  a  drum- 
head, and  his  own  head  upon  a  stump,  and  there  wouldn't  ha' 
been  a  dark  corner  on  the  Wateree  that  wouldn't  ha'  been  ring- 
ing with  the  Uproar  about  it.  I  tell  you,  my  lads,  that  day  that 
sees  the  death  of  Ned  Morton,  won't  be  a  quiet  day  in  these 
parts.  There'll  be  more  of  a  storm  in  these  woods  than  is  gal- 
loping through  'em  now.  If  you  don't  cry  that  day,  the  rebels 
will ;  and  let  them  lose  what  they  may  in  the  skrimmage,  they'll 
have  a  gain  when  they  flatten  him  on  his  back !" 

"Ah,  Muggs!"  exclaimed  Darcy,  "I'm  afraid  you  let  your 
wishes  blind  you  to  the  truth.  I  suppose  you  don't  know  that 
we  got  the  captain's  horse,  and  he  all  bloody  ?" 

"  Don't  I  know,  and  don't  I  think,  for  that  very  reason  too, 
that  he's  safe  and  sound,  and  will  soon  be  among  you.  You  found 
his  horse,  but  not  him.  The  horse  was  bloody.  Well !  If  the 
blood  had  been  his,  and  vital  blood,  don't  you  think  you'd  ha* 
found  the  rider  as  well  as  the  horse  1  But,  perhaps,  you  didn't 
stay  long  enough  for  the  hunt.  Folks  say  you  all  rode  well 
enough  that  day.  But  if  the  cappin  was  mortal  hurt  and  you 
didn't  find  him,  are  you  sure  the  rebels  did  1  I'm  a  thinking, 
not,  by  no  manner  of  means.  For,  if  they'd  ha'  got  him,  what 
a  hello-balloo  we  should  have  had.  No,  to  my  thinking,  the 
cappin  lost  the  horse  a-purpose  when  he  found  he  couldn't  lose 
the  rebels.  The  whole  troop  of  Butler  was  upon  him,  swearing 
death  agin  him  at  every  jump.  Be  sure  now,  Ned  Morton  left 
the  critter  to  answer  for  him,  and  tuk  to  the  swamp  like  a  brown 
bear  in  September.  I  can't  feel  as  if  he  was  dead ;  and,  if  he 


THE   BLACK  RIDERS   OP   CONGAREE.  63 

was,  Ensign  Darcy,  I,  for  one,  wouldn't  help  in  making  a  cap  pin 
out  of  any  but  one  that  comes  out  of  the  airth.  I'm  for  country 
born,  if  any." 

"  Well,  Muggs,  what  objection  do  you  find  to  the  lieutenant  ?" 

"  He's  not  country  born,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  he's  a  good  officer — there's  not  a  better  in  the  country 
than  Lieutenant  Stockton." 

"  That  mout  be,  and  then,  agin,  it  moutn't.  I'm  a-thinking 
Ben  Williams  is  about  as  good  a  man  as  you  could  choose  for 
your  cappin,  if  so  be  that  Ned  Morton's  slipped  his  wind  for 
sartin.  I  don't  see  Ben  here  to-night — at  this  present — but 
look  at  him  when  he  comes  in,  and  you'll  say  that's  the  man  to 
be  a  cappin.  He's  a  dragoon,  now,  among  a  thousand,  and  then, 
agin,  he's  country  born." 

"  But,  Muggs,  I  don't  see  that  your  argument  goes  for  much. 
An  American  born  is  a  king's  man,  and  a  British  born  is  the 
same,  and  it's  natural,  when  they're  fighting  on  the  same  side, 
that  a  British  born  should  have  command  just  the  same  as  the 
American." 

"  I  don't  see  that  it's  natural,  and  I  don't  believe  it.  There's 
a  mighty  difference  between  'em  to  my  thinking.  As  for  your 
king's  men  and  British  men,  I'm  one  that  wishes  you  had  let 
us  alone  to  fight  it  out  among  ourselves,  rebel  and  loyal,  jist  as 
we  stand.  It  was  a  sort  of  family  quarrel,  and  would  ha'  been 
soon  over,  if  you  hadn't  dipped  a  long  spoon  into  our  dish. 
They'd  ha'  licked  us  or  we'd  ha'  licked  them,  and  which  ever 
way  it  went,  we'd  all  ha'  been  quiet  long  afore  this.  But  here 
you  come,  with  your  Irishmen,  and  your  Yagers,  your  Scotch- 
men and  your  Jarmans,  and  you've  made  the  matter  worse 
without  helping  yourselves.  For,  where  are  you  ?  As  you 
whar  1  No,  by  the  powers  !  You  say  Rawdon's  licked  Greene. 
It's  well  enough  to  say  so.  But  where's  Greene  and  where's 
Rawdon  1  If  you  ain't  hearn,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Well  ]"  from  half  a  dozen.  "  Let's  hear !  The  news  !  The 
news !" 

"  Well!  It's  not  well — not  well  for  you,  at  least;  and  the 
sooner  you're  gone  from  these  parts  the  better.  Rawdon  that 
licked  Greene  is  about  to  run  from  Greene  that  he  licked.  I 


64  THE   SCOUT. 

have  it  from  Scrub  Heriot — little  Scrub,  you  know — that 
they've  had  secret  council  in  Camden,  and  all's  in  a  mist  thar 
— the  people  half  scared  to  death,  for  they  say  that  they  can't 
get  bacon  or  beans,  and  Rawdon's  going  to  vackyate,  and 
sw'ars,  if  he  has  to  do  so,  he'll  make  Camden  sich  ^a  blaze  that 
it'll  light  his  way  all  down  to  Charlestown.  I'm  a-looking  out 
for  the  burst  every  night.  That's  not  all.  Thar's  as  fresh  a 
gathering  of  the  rebels  along  the  Santee  and  Pedee  under 
Marion,  as  if  every  fellow  you  had  ever  killed  had  got  his  sculp 
back  agin,  and  was  jest  as  ready  to  kick  as  ever.  Well,  Tom 
Taylor's  brushing  like  a  little  breeze  about  Granby,  and  who 
but  Sumter  rides  the  road  now  from  Ninety-Six  to  Augusta  1 
Who  but  he  ?  Cunningham  darsn't  -show  his  teeth  along  the 
track  for  fear  they'll  be  drawed  through  the  back  of  his  head. 
Well,  if  this  is  enough  to  make  you  feel  scarey,  ain't  it  enough 
to  make  Ned  Morton  keep  close  and  hold  in  his  breath  till  he 
find  a  clean  country  before  him.  Don't  you  think  of  making  a 
new  cappin  till  you're  sartin  what's  come  of  the  old ;  and  if  it's 
all  over  with  him.  then  I  say  look  out  for  another  man  among 
you  that  comes  out  of  the  nateral  airth.  Ben  Williams  for  me, 
lads,  before  any  other." 

"Hurrah  for  Ben  Williams!"  was  the  maudlin  cry  of  half  a 
dozen.  The  lieutenant  at  this  moment  reappeared.  His  glance 
was  frowningly  fixed  upon  the  landlord,  in  a  way  to  convince 
Muggs  that  he  had  not  remained  uninformed  as  to  the  particular 
course  which  the  latter  had  taken.  But  it  was  clearly  not  his 
policy  to  show  his  anger  in  any  more  decided  manner,  and  the 
cudgels  were  taken  up  for  him  by  Darcy,  who,  during  the 
various  long  speeches  of  the  landlord  had  contrived  to  maintain 
a  running  fire  among  the  men.  He  plied  punch  and  persuasion 
—  strong  argument  and  strong  drink — with  equal  industry; 
and  the  generous  tendencies  of  the  party  began  everywhere  to 
overflow.  He  felt  his  increasing  strength,  and  proceeded  ,to 
carry  the  attack  into  the  enemy's  country. 

"  The  truth  is,  Muggs,  you  have  a  grudge  at  the  lieutenant 
ever  since  you  had  that  brush  together.  You  can't  so  readily 
forget  that  ugly  mark  on  your  muzzle." 

"  Look  you,  Ensign  Darcy,  there's  something  in  what  you 


THE   BLACK   RIDERS  OF   CONGAREE.  65- 

say  that  a  leetle  turns  upon  my  stomach ;  for  you  see  it's  not 
the  truth.  I  have  no  more  grudge  agin  Lieutenant  Stockton 
than  I  have  agin  you.  As  for  the  mark  you  speak  of,  I  do  say, 
it  did  him  no  great  credit  to  make  such  a  mark  on  a  one-armed 
man ;  though  I'd  ha'  paid  him  off  with  a  side-wipe  that  would 
ha'  made  him  'spectful  enough  to  the  one  I  had  left,  if  so  be 
that  Ben  Williams  hadn't  put  in  to  save  him.  That  was  the 
only  onfriendly  thing  that  Ben  ever  done  to  me  to  my  knowing. 
No !  I  han't  no  grudges,  thank  God  for  all  his  blessings,  but 
that's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  say  what  I  do  say,  that  Cappin 
Ned  Morton's  the  man  for  my  money ;  and,  though  I  can't  have 
much  to  say  in  the  business,  seeing  I  ain't  no  longer  of  the 
troop,  yet  if  'twas  the  last  word  I  had  to  retickilate,  I'd  cry  it 
for  him.  Here's  to  Ned  Morton,  boys,  living  or  dead." 

"And  here's  to  Lieutenant  Stockton,  boys,  and  may  he  soon 
be  captain  of  the  Black  Riders." 

"  Hurrah  for  Stockton  !  Hurrah  !"  was  the  now  almost  unan- 
imous cry,  and  Stockton,  advancing,  was  about  to  speak,  when 
the  faint  sounds  of  a  whistle  broke  upon  the  night,  imparting  a 
drearier  accent  to  the  melancholy  soughing  of  the  wind  without. 
The  note,  again  repeated,  brought  every  trooper  to  his  feet. 
The  cups  were  set  down  hastily — swords  buckled  on  —  caps 
donned,  and  pistols  examined. 

"  To  horse  !"  was  the  command  of  Stockton,  and  his  cool 
promptitude,  shown  on  this  occasion,  was  perhaps  quite  enough 
to  justify  the  choice  which  the  troop  had  been  about  to  make 
of  a  new  captain.  "To  horse!"  he  cried,  leading  the  way  to 
the  entrance,  but  ere  he  reached  it,  the  door  was  thrown  wide, 
and  the  ambitious  lieutenant  recoiled  in  consternation,  as  he  en- 
countered, in  the  face  of  the  new-comer,  the  stern  visage  of  that 
very  man,  supposed  to  be  dead,  whom  he  equally  feared  and 
hated,  and  whose  post  he  was  so  well  disposed  to  fill.  The 
chief  of  the  Black  Riders  stood  suddenly  among  his  followers, 
and  the  shouts  for  the  new  commander  were  almost  forgotten  in 
those  which  welcomed  the  old.  But  let  us  retrace  our  steps  for 
a  few  moments,  and  bring  our  readers  once  more  within  hearing 
of  the  kinsmen. 


THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTER    VI 

FIRST   FRUITS    OF   FREEDOM. 

IT  is  not  important  to  our  narrative,  in  returning  to  the  place 
and  period  when  and  where  we  left  the  rival  kinsmen,  that  we 
should  repeat  the  arguments  which  the  younger  employed  in 
order  to  persuade  the  other  to  a  more  open  and  manly  course 
of  conduct  in  his  political  career.  These  arguments  could  be  of 
one  character  only.  The  style  in  which  they  were  urged,  how- 
ever, became  somewhat  different,  after  the  final  interview  which 
they  had  in  the  presence  of  the  sturdy  woodman.  The  dis- 
play which  Supple  Jack  had  made  of  the  disguises  which  he 
had  found  upon  the  very  road  over  which  Edward  Conway  had 
fled,  and  about  the  very  time  when  he  had  taken  shelter  in  the 
swamp  from  the  pursuit  of  Butler's  men,  w^ould,  to  any  mind 
not  absolutely  anxious  not  to  believe,  have  been  conclusive  of 
his  guilt.  Edward  Conway  felt  it  to  be  so  in  his  own  case,  and 
readily  concluded  that  Clarence  would  esteem  it  so.  The  few 
reflections,  therefore,  which  time  permitted  him  to  make,  were 
neither  pleasant  nor  satisfactory  ;  and  when  he  galloped  off 
with  his  younger  brother,  he  had  half  a  doubt  whether  the  latter 
did  not  meditate  his  sudden  execution,  as  soon  as  they  should 
be  fairly  concealed  from  the  sight  of  the  woodman.  He  knew 
enough  of  the  character  of  Clarence  to  know  that  he  would  as 
soon  destroy  his  own  brother  for  treachery  —  nay,  sooner  —  than 
an  open  enemy  ;  and  the  silence  which  he  maintained,  the  stern, 
rigid  expression  of  his  features,  and  the  reckless  speed  at  which 
he  seemed  resolved  to  ride,  contributed  fti  no  small  degree  to 
increase  the  apprehensions  of  the  guilty  man.  For  a  brief 
space  that  ready  wit  and  prompt  subterfuge,  which  had  enabled 
him  hitherto  to  play  a  various  and  very  complicated  game  in 
life,  with  singular  adroitness  and  success,  seemed  about  to  fail. 


FIRST   FRUITS  OF  FREEDOM.  67 

He  felt  his  elasticity  lessening  fast — his  confidence  in  himself 
declining;  his  brain  was  heavy,  his  tongue  flattened  and  thick. 

Besides,  he  was  weaponless.  There  was  no  chance  of  success 
in  any  conflict,  unless  from  his  enemy's  generosity ;  and  upon 
that,  in  those  days,  the  partisan  who  fought  on  either  side  made 
but  few  calculations.  A  club,  the  rudest  mace,  the  roughest 
limb  of  the  lithe  hickory,  became  an  object  of  desire  to  the  mind 
of  the  conscious  traitor  at  this  moment.  But  he  did  not  truly 
understand  the  nature  of  that  mind  and  those  principles,  to 
which  his  own  bore  so  little  likeness.  He  little  knew  how  strong 
and  active  were  those  doubts — the  children  of  his  wish — which 
were  working  in  the  bosom  of  Clarence  Conway  in  his  behalf. 

At  length  the  latter  drew  up  his  steed,  and  exhibited  a  dispo- 
sition to  stop.  The  rain,  which  by  this  time  had  become  an  in- 
cessant stream,  had  hitherto  been  almost  unfelt  by  both  the  par- 
ties. The  anxiety  and  sorrow  of  the  one,  and  the  apprehensions 
of  the  other,  had  rendered  them  equally  insensible  to  the  storm 
without. 

"  Edward  Conway,"  said  the  younger,  "  let  us  alight  here. 
Here  we  must  separate ;  and  here  I  would  speak  to  you,  per- 
haps for  the  last  time,  as  my  father's  son." 

Somewhat  reassured,  Edward  Conway  followed  the  example 
of  his  kinsman,  and  the  two  alighted  among  a  group  of  hills,  on 
the  eastern  side  of  which  they  found  a  partial  protection  from 
the  storm,  which  was  blowing  from  the  west.  But  little  did 
either  need,  at  that  moment,  of  shelter  from  its  violence.  Brief 
preparation  sufficed  to  fasten  their  steeds  beneath  a  close  clump 
of  foliage,  and  then  followed  the  parting  words  of  the  younger, 
which  had  been  so  solemnly  prefaced. 

"  Now,  Edward  Conway,  my  pledges  to  you  are  all  fulfilled 
— my  duties,  too.  I  have  done  even  more  than  was  required  at 
my  hands  by  any  of  the  ties  of  blood.  I  have  been  to  you  a 
brother,  and  you  are  now  free." 

"You  do  not  repent  of  it,  Clarence?" 

"  Of  that,  it  is  fitting  that  I  say  nothing  rashly.  Time  will 
show.  But  I  need  not  say  to  you,  Edward  Conway,  that  the 
discovery  of  these  disguises,  under  circumstances  such  as  Jack 
Bannister  detailed  before  you,  has  revived,  in  all  their  force,  my 


68  THE  SCOUT. 

old  suspicions.  God  knows  how  much  I  have  striven  to  set  my 
soul  against  these  suspicions.  God  only  knows  how  much  1 
would  give  could  I  be  sure  that  they  were  groundless.  I  dare 
not  for  my  father's  sake  believe  them — I  dare  not  for  my  own. 
»  And  this  dread  to  believe,  Edward  Conwa~y*,  is,  I  fear,  the  only 
thing  that  has  saved,  and  still  saves  you,  from  my  blow.  But 
for  this,  kinsman  or  no  kinsman,  your  blood  had  been  as  freely 
shed  by  these  hands,  as  if  its  sluices  were  drawn  from  the  least 
known  and  basest  puddle  in  existence." 

"  I  am  at  your  mercy,  Clarence  Oonway.  I  have  no  weapons. 
My  arms  are  folded.  I  have  already  spoken  when  I  should 
have  been  silent.  I  will  say  no  more  —  nothing,  certainly,  to 
prevent  your  blow.  Strike,  if  you  will :  if  I  can  not  convince 
you  that  I  am  true,  I  can  at  least  show  you  that  I  am  fearless." 

The  wily  kinsman  knew  well  the  easy  mode  to  disarm  his 
brother — to  puzzle  his  judgment,  if  not  to  subdue  his  suspicions. 

"I  have  no  such  purpose!"  exclaimed  Clarence,  chokingly. 
"  Would  to  heaven  you  would  give  me  no  occasion  to  advert  to 
the  possibility  that  I  ever  should  have.  But  hear  me,  Edward 
Conway,  ere  we  part.  Do  not  deceive  yourself — do  not  fancy 
that  I  am  deceived  by  this  show  of  boldness. .  It  did  not  need 
that  you  should  assure  me  of  your  fearlessness.  That  I  well 
knew.  It  is  not  your  courage,  but  your  candor,  of  which  I  am 
doubtful.  The  display  of  the  one  quality  does  not  persuade  me 
any  the  more  of  your  possession  of  the  other.  We  are  now  to 
part.  You  are  free  from  this  moment.  You  are*  also  safe.  Our 
men  are  no  longer  on  the  Wateree  ;  —  a  few  hours'  good  riding 
will  bring  you,  most  probably,  within  challenge  of  Watson's  sen- 
tinels. If  you  are  the  foe  to  your  country,  which  they  declare 
you,  he  is  your  friend.  That  you  do  not  seek  safety  in  our 
ranks,  I  need  no  proof.  But,  ere  we  part,  let  me  repeat  my 
warnings.  Believe  me,  Edward  Conway,  dear  to  me  as  my 
father's  son,  spare  me,  if  you  have  it  in  your  heart,  the  pain  of 
being  your  foe.  Spare  me  the  necessity  of  strife  with  you.  If 
it  be  that  you  are  a  loyalist,  let  us  not  meet.  I  implore  it  as 
the  last  favor  which  I  shall  ever  ask  at  your  hands ;  and  I  im- 
plore it  with  a  full  heart.  You  know  that  we  have  not  always 
been  friends.  You  know  that  there  are  circumstances,  not  in- 


FIRST   FRUITS   OF   FREEDOM.  69 

volving  our  principles,  on  which  we  have  already  quarrelled,  and 
which  are  of  a  nature  but  too  well  calculated  to  bring  into  activ- 
ity the  wildest  anger  and  the  deadliest  hate.  But,  however 
much  we  have  been  at  strife — however  I  may  have  fancied  that 
you  have  done  me  wrong — still,  believe  me,  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  have  ever,  in  my  cooler  moments,  striven  to  think  of, 
and  to  serve  you  kindly.  Henceforward  our  meeting  must  be 
on  other  terms.  The  cloud  which  hangs  about  your  course  — 
the  suspicion  which  stains  your  character  in  the  minds  of  others 
'—have  at  last  affected  mine.  We  meet,  hereafter,  only  as 
friends  or  foes.  Your  course  must  then  be  decided — your  prin- 
ciples declared — your  purpose  known ;  and  then,  Edward  Con- 
way,  if  it  be  as  men  declare,  and  as  I  dare  not  yet  believe,  that 
you  are  that  traitor  to  your  country — that  you  do  lead  that 
savage  banditti  which  has  left  the  print  of  their  horses'  hoofs, 
wherever  they  have  trodden,  in  bloq^? — then  must  our  meeting 
be  one  of  blood  only ;  and  then,  as  surely  as  I  shall  feel  all  the 
shame  of  such  a  connection  in  my  soul,  shall  I  seek,  by  a  strife 
without  remorse,  to  atone  equally  to  my  father  and  to  my  coun- 
try for  the  crime  and  folly  of  his  son.  Fondly  do  I  implore  you, 
Edward  Conway,  to  spare  me  this  trial.  Let  our  parting  at  this 
moment  be  final,  unless  we  are  to  meet  on  terms  more  satisfac- 
tory to  Hoth." 

The  elder  of  the  kinsmen,  at  this  appeal,  displayed  more 
emotion,  real  or  affected,  than  he  had  shown  at  any  time  during 
the  interview.  He  strode  to  and  fro  among  the  tall  trees,  with 
hands  clasped  behind,  eyes  cast  down  upon  the  earth,  and  brows 
contracted.  A  single  quiver  might  have  been  seen  at  moments 
among  the  muscTes  of  his  mouth.  Neither  of  them  seemed  to 
heed  the  increasing  weight  of  the  tempest.  Its  roar  was  un- 
heard—  its  torrents  fell  without  notice  around  and  upon  them. 
The  reply  of  Edward  Conway  was  at  length  spoken.  He  ap- 
proached his  brother.  He  had  subdued  his  emotions,  whatever 
might  have  been  their  source.  His  words  were  few — his  utter- 
ance composed  and  calm.  He  extended  his  hand  to  Clarence 
as  he  spoke. 

"  Let  us  part,  Clarence.  It  does  not  become  me  to  make  fur- 
ther assurances.  To  reply,  as  I  should,  to  what  you  have  said, 


70  THE   SCOUT. 

might  be,  probably,  to  increase  the  width  and  depth  of  that 
chasm  which  seems  to  lie  between  us.  I  can  not  say  that  I  am 
satisfied  with  your  tone,  your  temper,  the  position  which  you 
assume,  and  the  right  which  you  claim  to  direct,  and  warn,  and 
counsel!  —  and  when  you  threaten! — But  enough!  Let  us 
part  before  anything  be  said  which  shall  make  you  forget  any- 
thing which  you  should  remember,  or  me  that  I  owe  my  life  to 
your  assistance.  What  is  said  is  said — let  it  be  forgotten.  Let 
us  part." 

"  Ay,  let  us  part :  but  let  it  not  be  forgotten,  Edward  Con- 
way  r 

"  True,  true  !  Let  it  not  be  forgotten.  It  shall  not  be  forgot- 
ten. It  can  not  be.  It  would  not  be  easy  for  me,  Clarence,  to 
forget  anything  which  has  taken  place  in  the  last  ten  days  of 
my  life." 

There  was  a  latent  signification  in  what  was  said  by  the  speak- 
er to  arouse  new  suspicions  in  the  mind  of  the  younger  of  the 
kinsmen.  He  saw,  or  fancied  that  he  saw,  a  gleam  of  ferocity 
shine  out  from  the  eyes  of  his  brother,  and  his  own  inflammable 
temper  was  about  to  flare  up  anew. 

"  Do  you  threaten,  Edward  Conway  ?  Am  I  to  understand 
you  as  speaking  the  language  of  defiance  ?" 

"  Understand  me,  Clarence,  as  speaking  nothing  which  should 
not  become  a  man  and  your  brother." 

The  reply  was  equivocal.  That  it  was  so,  was  reason  suffi- 
cient why  Clarence  Conway  should  hesitate  to  urge  a  matter 
which  might  only  terminate  in  bringing  their  quarrel  to  a  crisis. 

"  The  sooner  we  separate  the  better,"  was  his  only  answer. 
"  Here,  Edward  Conway,  is  one  of  my  pistols.^  You  shall  not 
say  I  sent  you  forth  without  weapons  to  defend  you,  into  a  for- 
est field,  possibly,  with  foes.  The  horse  which  you  ride  is  a 
favorite,  You  have  lost  yours.  Keep  him  till  you  are  provi- 
ded. You  can  always  find  an  opportunity  to  return  him  when 
you  are  prepared  to  do  so ;  and  should  you  not,  it  will  make  no 
difference.  Farewell:  God  be  with  you — but  remember!  — 
remember !" 

The  youth  grasped  the  now  reluctant  hand  of  the  elder  Con- 
way  ;  wrung  it  with  a  soldier's  grasp  —  a  pressure  in  which  min- 


FIRST    1-RUITS   OP   FEEEDO  I.  71 

gled  feelings,  all  warm,  all  conflicting,  had  equal  utterance;  — 
then,  springing  upon  his  steed,  he-Hashed  rapidly  into  the  for- 
est and  in  a  few  moments  was  hidden  from  sight  in  its  thickest 
mazes. 

"  Remember.  Yes,  Clarence  Conway,  I  will  remember.  Can 
I  ever  forget !  Can  I  ever  forget  the  arrogance  which  presumes 
to  counsel,  to  warn,  and  to  threaten — to  pry  into  my  privacy  — 
to  examine  my  deeds — to  denounce  them  with  shame  and  threat- 
en them  with  vengeance.  I  will  remember — to  requite  !  It 
shall  not  be  always  thus.  The  game  will  be  in  my  hands  ere 
many  days,  and  I  will  play  it  as  no  gamester,  with  all  upon  the 
cast,  ever  yet  played  the  game  of  life  before.  Without  pause 
or  pity — resolved  and  reckless — I  will  speed  on  to  the  prose- 
cution of  my  purposes,  until  my  triumph  is  complete  !  I  must 
beware,  must  1 1  —  I  must  account  for  my  incomings  and  outgo- 
ings ]  And  why,  forsooth  ?  Because  I  am  your  father's  son. 
For  the  same  reason  do  you  beware!  I  were  no  son  of  my 
father  if  I  did  not  resent  this  insolence." 

He  had  extricated  his  horse  from  the  cover  which  concealed 
him  while  he  was  giving  utterance  to  this  soliloquy.  The  noble 
animal  neighed  and  whinnied  after  his  late  companion.  The 
plaintive  appeal  of  the  beast  seemed  to  irritate  his  rider,  whose 
passions,  subjected  to  a  restraint  which  he  had  found  no  less 
necessary  than  painful,  were  now  seeking  that  vent  which  they 
had  been  denied  for  an  unusual  season ;  and  under  their  influ- 
ence he  struck  the  animal  over  the  nostril  with  the  heavy  hand 
of  that  hate  which  he  fain  would  have  bestowed  upon  his  master. 

"  Remember !"  he  muttered,  as  he  leaped  upon  the  saddle. 
"  I  need  no  enti0aty  to  this  end,  Clarence  Conway.  I  must  be 
a  patriot  at  your  bidding,  and  choose  my  side  at  your  sugges- 
tion ;  and  forbear  the  woman  of  my  heart  in  obedience  to  the 
same  royal  authority.  We  shall  see  ! — We  shall  see  !" 

And,  as  he  spoke,  the  sheeted  tempest  driving  in  his  face  the 
while — he  shook  his  threatening  hand  in  the  direction  which  his 
brother  had  taken.  Turning  his  horse's  head  upon  an  opposite 
course,  he  then  proceeded,  though  at  a  less  rapid  rate,  to  find 
that  shelter,  which  he  now,  for  the  first  time,  began  to  consider 
necessary. 


72  THE   SCOUT. 

It  may  have  been  ten  Jfoutes  after  their  separation,  when 
he  heard  a  sound  at  a  little  Distance  which  aroused  his  flagging 
attention. 

"  That  whistle,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  is  very  like  our  own. 
It  may  be!  They  should  be  here,  if  my  safety  were  of  any 
importance,  and  if  that  reptile  Stockton  would  suffer  them.  That 
fellow  is  a  spy  upon  me,  sworn  doubly  to  my  destruction,  if  he 
can  find  the  means!*  But  let  me  find  him  tripping,  and  a  shot 
gives  him  prompt  dismissal.  Again ! — it  is  ! — they  are  here — 
the  scouts  are  around  me,  and  doubtlessly  the  whole  troop  is  at 
Muggs's  this  moment.  There,  he  could  do  ine  no  harm.  Muggs 
is  sworn  my  friend  against  all  enemies,  and  he  is  tine  as  any  en- 
emy.— Again,  the  signal !  They  shall  have  aw'echo." 

Speaking  thus  he  replied  in  a  sound  similar  to  that  which  he 
heard,  and  an  immediate  response,  almost  at  his  elbow,  satisfied 
him  of  the  truth  of  his- first,  impression.  He  drew  up  his  steed, 
repeated  the  whistle,  and  was  now  answered  by  the  swift  tread 
of  approaching  horses;  In  a  few  moments,  one,  and  then  an- 
other—  appeared  in  sight,  and  the  captain  of  the  Black  Eiders 
of  Congaree  once  more  found  himself  surrounded  by  his  men. 

Their  clamors,  as  soon  as  he  was  recognised,  attested  his  pop- 
ularity among  his  troop. 

"Ha,  Irby  ! — Ha,  Burnet !  Is  it  you? — and  you,  Gibbs — 
you  Fisher  :  I  rejoice  to  see  you.  Your  hands,  my  good  fellows. 
There  !  There  !  You  are  well— all  well." 

The  confused  questions  and  congratulations,  all  together,  of 
the  troopers,  while  they  gave  every  pleasure  to  their  chieftain, 
as  convincing  him  of  their  fidelity,  rendered  unnecessary  any 
attempt  at  answer  or  explanation.  Nor  did  if&ward  Conway 
allow  himself  time  for  this.  His  words,  though  friendly  enough, 
were  few ;  and  devoted,  seemingly,  to  the  simple  business  of 
the  troop.  Captain  Morton — for  such  was  the  name  by  which 
only  he  was  known  to  them — with  the  quickness  of  a  govern- 
ing instinct,  derived  from  a  few  brief  comprehensive  questions, 
all  that  he  desired  to  know  in  regard  to  their  interests  and  posi- 
tion. He  ascertained  where  the  main  body  would  be  found,  and 
what  had  taken  place  during  his  absence ;  and  proceeded  in- 
stantly to  the  reassumption  of  his  command  over  them. 


FIRST   FRUITS   OF   FREEDOM.  73 

"  Enough  of  this,  my  good  fellows.  I  will  see  to  all  this  at 
Muggs's.  We  have  no  time  now.  for  unnecessary  matter.  You 
have  work  on  hand.  Burnet,  do  you  take  with  you  Gibbs,  Irby, 
and  Fisher.  Push  your  horses  down  for  the  Wateree  by  the 
first  road  running  left  of  where  we  now  stand.  Do  you  know 
the  route  ?  It  leads  by  the  clay  diggings  of  the  old  Dutchman 
— the  brick-burner — what's  his  name  ?" 

"  I  know  it,  sir " 

"  Enough,  then.  Take  that  road — put  the  steel  into  your 
nags,  but  send  them  forward.  If  you  are  diligent  you  will  over- 
take one  of  our  worst  enemies — a  friend  of  Butler — a  rebel — 
no  less  than  Colonel  Conway.  Pursue  and  catch  him.  You 
can  not  fail  to  overtake  him  if  you  try  for  it.  Take  him  pris- 
oner—  alive,  if  you  can.  I  particularly  wish  that  you  should 
have  him  alive ;  but,  remember,  take  him  at  every  hazard. 
Living  or  dead,  he  must  be  ours." 

The  dragoon  lingered  for  further  orders. 

"  If  you  succeed  in  taking  him,  bring  him  on  to  Muggs's. 
Give  the  signal  before  you  reach  his  cabin,  that  there  may  be 
no  surprise — no  mistake.  Something  depends  on  your  observ- 
ance of  this  caution ;  so,  you  will  remember.  Away,  now,  and 
ride  for  life." 

Their  obedience  was  sufficiently  prompt.  In  an  instant  they 
were  on  their  way,  pursuing  the  track  which  Clarence  had  taken 
for  the  Wateree. 

"Now!"  exclaimed  the  outlaw-chief,  with  exultation — "now 
there  is  some  chance  for  vengeance.  If  they  succeed  in  taking 
him  alive,  I  will  practise  upon  him  to  his  utter  blindness — I  will 
do  him  no  harm,  unless  a  close  lodging-house  will  do  him  harm. 
If  they  kill  him — well,  it  is  only  one  of  those  chances  of  war 
which  he  voluntarily  incurs :  it  is  only  the  lower  cast  of  the 
die.  Yet,  I  trust  it  may  not  be  so.  I  am  not  yet  prepared  for 
that.  He  is  my  father's  son.  He  has  stood  beside  me  in  danger. 
He  deserves  that  I  should  spare  him.  But,  even  for  all  this  he 
may  not  be  spared,  if  he  is  to  triumph  over  me — to  sway  me 
with  his  arrogance — to  achieve  all  victories  in  love  as  in  war. 
In  love  ! — God,  what  a  strange  nature  is  this  of  mine  !  How 
feeble  am  I  when  I  think  of  her !  And  of  her  I  can  not  help 

4 


74  THE  SCOUT. 

but  think;  her  beauty,  her  pride  of  soul — ay,  even  her  arro- 
gance, I  can  think  of  with  temper  and  with  love.  But  his — no, 
no  !  He  has  spoken  too  keenly  to  my  soul ;  and  when  he  for- 
bids that  I  should  seek  and  see  her,  he  forfeits  every  claim.  Let 
them  slay  him,  if  they  please ;  it  can  only  come  to  this  at  last." 
And,  with  these  words,  striking  with  his  open  palm  upon  the 
neck  of  his  horse,  he  drove  him  forward  to  Muggs's.  His  en- 
trance we  have  already  seen,  and  the  wonder  it  excited :  the 
wonder  in  all,  the  consternation  in  one.  The  troopers,  with  one 
voice,  cried  out  for  then1  ancient  captain;  and  Stockton,  con- 
founded and  defeated,  could  only  hoarsely  mingle  his  congratu- 
lations with  the  rest,  in  accents  more  faltering,  and,  as  the  outlaw 
captain  well  apprehended,  with  far  less  sincerity. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

CAPTIVITY  —  FINESSE. 

EDWARD  MORTON  bestowed  upon  his  second  officer  but  a 
single  glance,  beneath  which  his  eye  fell  and  his  soul  became 
troubled.  That  glance  was  one  of  equal  scorn  and  suspicion. 
It  led  the  treacherous  subordinate,  with  the  natural  tendency  of 
a  guilty  conscience,  to  apprehend  that  all  his  machinations  had 
been  discovered ;  that  some  creature  of  his  trust  had  proved 
treacherous ;  and  that  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  one  who  ,had 
come  with  the  full  purpose  of  vengeance  and  of  punishment. 

But,  though  secure  as  yet,  in  this  respect,  Lieutenant  Stock- 
ton was  not  equally  so  in  others,  scarcely  of  less  consequence. 
He  had  neglected,  even  if  Jie  had  not  betrayed,  his  trust.  He 
had  kept  aloof  from  the  place  of  danger,  when  his  aid  was  re- 
quired, and  left  his  captain  to  all  those  risks — one  of  which  has 
been  already  intimated  to  the  reader — which  naturally  followed 
a  duty  of  great  and  peculiar  exposure,  to  which  the  latter  had 
devoted  himself.  Even  when  his  risk  had  been  taken,  and  the 
dangers  incurred,  Stockton  had  either  forborne  that  search  after 


CAPTIVITY FINESSE.  75 

his  superior,  or  had  so  pursued  it  as  to  render  his  efforts  almost 
ineffectual. 

But  lie  had  undertaken  the  toils  of  villany  in  vain,  and  with- 
out reaping  any  of  its  pleasant  fruits.  The  return  of  his  supe- 
rior, as  it  were  from  the  grave,  left  him  utterly  discomfited. 
His  rewards  were  as  far  off  as  ever  from  his  hopes ;  and,  to  his 
fears,  his  punishments  were  at  hand. 

His  apprehensions  were  not  wholly  without  foundation.  So 
soon  as  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders  could  relieve  himself  from 
the  oppressive  congratulations  which  encountered  his  safe  resto- 
ration to  his  troop,  he  turned  upon  the  lieutenant,  and,  with  an 
indignation  more  just  than  prudent,  declared  his  disapprobation 
of  his  conduct. 

"  I  know  not,  Lieutenant  Stockton,  how  you  propose  to  satisfy 
Lord  Rawdon  for  your  failure  to  bring  your  men  to  Dukes's,  as 
I  ordered  you ;  but  I  shall  certainly  report  to  him  your  neglect 
in  such  language  as  shall  speak  my  own  opinion  of  it,  however 
it  may  influence  his.  The  consequences  of  your  misconduct  are 
scarcely  to  be  computed.  You  involved  me  individually  in  an 
unnecessary  risk  of  life,  and  lost  a  happy  opportunity  of  striking 
one  of  the  best  blows  in  the  cause  of  his  majesty  which  has  been 
stricken  this  campaign.  The  whole  troop  of  the  rebel  Butler 
was  in  our  hands ;  they  must  have  been  annihilated  but  for  your 
neglect — a  neglect,  too,  which  is  wholly  unaccountable,  as  I 
myself  had  prescribed  every  step  in  your  progress,  and  waited 
for  your  coming  with  every  confidence  in  the  result." 

"  I  did  not  know,  sir,  that  there  was  any  prospect  of  doing 
anything  below  here,  and  I  heard  of  a  convoy  on  the  road  to 
General  Greene " 

"  Even  that  will  not  answer,  Lieutenant  Stockton.  You  were 
under  orders  for  one  duty,  and  presumed  too  greatly  on  your 
own  judgment  when  you  took  the  liberty  of  making  a  different 
disposition  of  the  troop  left  to  your  guidance.  You  little  dream, 
sir,  how  nigh  you  were  to  ruin.  But  a  single  hour  saved  you 
from  falling  in  with  all  Sumter's  command,  and  putting  an  end 
for  ever  to  your  short-lived  authority.  And  yet,  sir,  you  are 
ambitious  of  sole  command.  You  have  your  emissaries  among 
the  troop  urging  your  fitness  to  lead  them  •  as  if  such  proofs 


76  THE   SCOUT. 

were  ever  necessary  to  those  who  truly  deserve  them.  Your 
emissaries,  sir,  little  know  our  men.  It  is  enough  for  them  to 
know  that  you  left  your  leader  in  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  at  a 
time  when  all  his  risks  were  incurred  for  their  safety  and  your 
own." 

"  I  have  no  emissaries,  sir,  for  any  such  purpose,"  replied  the 
subordinate,  sulkily ;  his  temper  evidently  rising  from  the  un- 
pleasant exposure  which  was  making  before  those  who  had  only 
recently  been  so  well  tutored  in  his  superior  capacities.  "  You 
do  me  injustice,  sir — you  have  a  prejudice  against  me.  For — " 

"  Prejudice,  and  against  you  /"  was  the  scornful  interruption 
of  the  chief.  "  No  more,  sir ;  I  will  not  hear  you  farther.  You 
shall  have  the  privilege  of  being  heard  by  those  against  whom 
you  can  urge  no  such  imputations.  Your  defence  shall  be 
made  before  a  court  martial.  Yield  up  your  sword,  sir,  to  Mr. 
Barton." 

The  eye  of  the  lieutenant,  at  this  mortifying  moment,  caught 
that  of  the  maimed  veteran  Muggs ;  and  the  exulting  satisfac- 
tion which  was  expressed  by  the  latter  was  too  much  for  his 
firmness.  He  drew  the  sword,  but  instead  of  tendering  the  hilt 
to  the  junior  officer  who  had  been  commanded  to  receive  it,  con7 
fronted  him  with  the  point,  exclaiming  desperately — 

"  My  life  first !  I  will  not  be  disgraced  before  the  men !" 
.  "Your  life,  then!"  was  the  fierce  exclamation  of  Morton, 
spoken  with  instant  promptness,  as  he  hurled  the  pistol  with 
which  Clarence  Conway  had  provided  him,  full  in  the  face  of 
the  insubordinate.  At  that  same  moment,  the  scarcely  less 
rapid  movement  of  Muggs,  enabled  him  to  grasp  the  offender 
about  the  body  with  his  single  arm. 

The  blow  of  the  pistol  took  effect,  and  the  lieutenant  would 
have  been  as  completely  prostrated,  as  he  was  stunned  by  it, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  supporting  grasp  of  the  landlord,  which 
kept  him  from  instantly  falling.  The  blood  streamed  from 
his  mouth  and  nostrils.  Half  conscious  only,  he  strove  to  ad- 
vance, and  his  sword  was  partially  uplifted  as  if  to  maintain  with 
violence  the  desperate  position  which  he  had  taken ;  but,  by 
this  time,  a  dozen  ready  hands  were  about  him.  The  weapon 
was  wrested  from  his  hold,  and  the  wounded  man  thrust  down 


CAPTIVITY — FINESSE.  77 

upon  the  floor  of  the  hovel,  where  he  was  held  by  the  heavy 
knee  of  more  than  one  of  the  dragoons,  while  others  were  found 
equally  prompt  to  bind  his  arms. 

They  were  all  willing  to  second  the  proceedings,  however 
fearful,  of  a  chief  whose  determination  of  character  they  well 
knew,  and  against  whom  they  also  felt  they  had  themselves 
somewhat  offended,  in  the  ready  acquiescence  which  most  of 
them  had  given  to  the  persuasive  arguments  and  entreaties  of 
Darcy.  This  latter  person  had  now  no  reverence  to  display  for 
the  man  in  whose  cause  he  had  been  only  too  officious.  He 
was  one  of  those  moral  vanes  which  obey  the  wind  of  circum- 
stances, and  acquire  that  flexibility  of  habit,  which,  after  a  little 
while,  leaves  it  impossible  to  make  them  fix  anywhere.  He 
did  not,  it  is  true,  join  in  the  clamor  against  his  late  ally ;  but 
he  kept  sufficiently  aloof  from  any  display  of  sympathy.  His 
own  selfish  fears  counselled  him  to  forbearance,  and  he  was  not 
ambitious  of  the  crown  of  martyrdom  in  the  cause  of  any  prin- 
ciple so  purely  abstract  as  that  of  friendship.  To  him,  the  chief 
of  the  Black  Riders  gave  but  a  single  look,  which  sufficiently 
informed  him  that  his  character  was  known  and  his  conduct 
more  than  suspected.  The  look  of  his  superior  had  yet  another 
meaning,  and  that  was  one  of  unmitigated  contempt. 

Unlike  the  lieutenant,  Darcy  was  sufficiently  prudent,  how- 
ever, not  to  display  by  glance,  word,  or  action,  the  anger  which 
he  felt.  He  wisely  subdued  the  resentment  in  his  heart,  prefer- 
ring to  leave  to  time  the  work  of  retribution.  But  he  did  not, 
any  more  than  Stockton,  forego  his  desire  for  ultimate  revenge. 
He  was  one  of  those  who  could  wait,  and  whose  patience,  like 
that  of  the  long  unsatisfied  creditor,  served  only  to  increase,  by 
the  usual  interest  process,  the  gross  amount  of  satisfaction  which 
must  finally  ensue.  It  was  not  now  for  the  first  time  that  he 
was  compelled  to  experience  the  scorn  of  their  mutual  superior. 
It  may  be  stated,  in  this  place,  that  the  alliance  between  Stock- 
ton and  himself  was  quite  as  much  the  result  of  their  equal 
sense  of  injury,  at  the  hands  of  Morton,  as  because  of  any  real 
sympathy  between  the  parties. 

"  Take  this  man  hence,"  was  the  command  of  Morton,  turning 
once  more  his  eyes  upon  the  prostrate  Stockton.  "  Take  him 


78  THE   SCOUT. 

hence,  Sergeant  Fisher — see  him  well  bestowed — have  his 
wants  attended  to,  but  see,  above  all  things,  that  he  escape  not. 
He  has  gone  too  far  in  his  folly  to  be  trusted  much  longer  with 
himself,  till  we  are  done  with  him  entirely.  This,  I  trust,  will 
soon  be  the  case." 

This  order  gave  such  a  degree  of  satisfaction  to  the  landlord, 
Muggs,  that  he  found  it  impossible  to  conceal  his  delight.  A 
roar  of  pleasure  burst  from  his  lips. 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  ! — I  thought  it  would  be  so. — I  knew  it  must 
come  to  this.  I  thought  it  a  blasted  bad  sign  from  the  begin- 
ning, when  he  was  so  willing  to  believe  the  cappin  was  turned 
into  small  meat,  and  the  choppings  not  to  be  come  at.  There's 
more  of  them  sort  of  hawks  in  these  parts,  cappin,  if  'twas  worth 
any  white  man's  while  to  look  after  them." 

The  last  sentence  was  spoken  with  particular  reference  to 
Ensign  Darcy,  and  the  eyes  of  the  stout  landlord  were  fixed 
upon  that  person  with  an  expression  of  equal  triumph  and 
threatening ;  but  neither  Darcy  nor  Morton  thought  it  advisable 
to  perceive  the  occult  signification  of  his  glance.  The  occupa- 
tions of  the  latter,  meanwhile,  did  not  cease  with  the  act  of 
summary  authority  which  we  have  witnessed.  He  called  up  to 
him  an  individual  from  his  troop  whose  form  and  features  some- 
what resembled  his  own — whose  general  intelligence  might 
easily  be  conjectured  from  his  features,  and  whose  promptness 
seemed  to  justify  the  special  notice  of  his  captain.  This  person 
he  addressed  as  Ben  Williams — a  person  whom  the  landlord, 
Muggs,  had  designated,  in  a  previous  chapter,  as  the  most  fitting 
to  succeed  their  missing  leader  in  the  event  of  his  loss.  That 
Morton  himself  entertained  some  such  opinion,  the  course  of 
events  will  show. 

"  Williams,"  he  said,  after  the  removal  of  Stockton  had  been 
effected — "there  is  a  game  to  play  in  which  you  must  be  chief 
actor.  It  is  'necessary  that  you  should  take  my  place,  and  seem 
'  for  a  while  to  be  the  leader  of  the  Black  Riders.  The  motive 
for  this  will  be  explained  to  you  in  time.  Nay,  more,  it  is  ne- 
cessary that  I  should  seem  your  prisoner.  You  will  probably 
soon  have  a  prisoner  in  fact,  in  whose  sight  I  would  also  occupy 
the  same  situation.  Do  with  me  then  as  one. — Hark! — That 


"  CAPTIVITY — FINESSE.  79 

is  even  now  the  signal ! — They  will  soon  be  here.  Muggs,  bar 
the  entrance  for  a  while,  until  everything  is  ready.  Now,  Wil- 
liams, be  quick ;  pass  your  lines  about  my  arms  and  bind  me 
securely.  Let  one  or  more  of  your  men  watch  me  with  pistols 
cocked,  and  show,  all  of  you,  the  appearance  of  persons  who 
have  just  made  an  important  capture.  I  will  tell  you  more 
hereafter." 

The  subordinate  was  too  well  accustomed  to  operations  of 
the  kind  suggested,  to  offer  any  unnecessary  scruple,  or  to 
need  more  precise  directions.  The  outlaw  was  bound  accord- 
ingly ;  placed,  as  he  desired,  upon  a  bulk  that  stood  in  a  corner 
of  the  wigwam,  while  two  black-faced  troopers  kept  watch  be- 
side him.  The  signal  was  repeated  from  without ;  the  parties, 
from  the  sound,  being  evidently  close  at  hand.  The  chief  of 
the  outlaws  whispered  in  the  ear  of  his  subordinate  such  farther 
instructions  as  were  essential  to  his  object. 

•'  Keep  me  hi  this  situation,  in  connection  with  the  prisoner 
— should  he  be  brought — for  the  space  of  an  hour.  Let  us  be 
left  alone  for  that  space  of  time.  Let  us  then  be  separated, 
while  you  come  to  me  in  private.  We  shall  then  be  better  able 
to  determine  for  the  future." 

The  hurried  preparations  being  completed,  the  chief,  now 
seemingly  a  closely-watched  and  strongly-guarded  prisoner, 
gave  orders  to  throw  open  the  entrance,  and,  in  the  meantime, 
subdued  his  features  to  the  expression  of  a  well-grounded  dis- 
satisfaction with  a  situation  equally  unapprehended  and  painful. 

The  capture  of  Clarence  Conway  was  not  such  an  easy  mat- 
ter. It  will  be  remembered  that,  when  he  separated  from  his 
brother,  under  the  influence  of  feelings  of  a  most  exciting  nature, 
he  had  given  his  horse  a  free  spur,  and  dashed  forward  at  full 
speed  to  regain  his  place  of  safety  in  the  swamp.  The  rapidity 
of  his  start,  had  he  continued  at  the  same  pace,  would  have 
secured  him  against  pursuit.  But,  as  his  blood  cooled,  and  his 
reflective  mood  assumed  the  ascendency,  his  speed  was  neces 
sarily  lessened ;  and,  by  the  time  that  his  treacherous  kinsman 
was  enabled  to  send  the  troopers  in  pursuit,  his  horse  was  suf- 
fered quietly  to  pick  his  way  forward,  in  a  gait  most  suited  to 
his  own  sense  of  comfort. 


80  THE   SCOUT. 

The  consequence  was  inevitable.  The  pursuers  gained  rapidly 
upon  him,  and  owing  to  the  noise  occasioned  by  the  rain  pat- 
tering heavily  upon  the  leaves  about  him,  he  did  not  hear  the 
sound  of  their  horses'  feet,  until  escape  became  difficult.  At 
the  moment  when  he  became  conscious  of  the  pursuit,  he  was 
taught  to  perceive  how  small  were  his  chances  of  escape  from 
it.  Suddenly,  he  beheld  a  strange  horseman,  on  each  side  of 
him,  while  two  others  were  pressing  earnestly  forward  in  the 
rear.  None  of  them  could  have  been  fifty  yards  from  him  at 
the  moment  when  he  was  first  taught  his  danger.  The  keen- 
ness of  the  chase,  the  sable  costume  which  the  pursuers  wore, 
left  him  in  no  doubt  of  their  character  as  enemies ;  and  with 
just  enough  of  the  sense  of  danger  to  make  him  act  decisively, 
the  fearless  partisan  drew  forth  his  pistol,  cocked  it  without 
making  any  unnecessary  display,  and,  at  the  same  time,  drove 
the  rowel  into  the  flanks  of  his  steed. 

A  keen  eye  sent  forward  upon  the  path  which  he  was  pursu- 
ing, enabled  him  to  see  that  it  was  too  closely  covered  with 
woods  to  allow  him  to  continue  much  farther  his  present  rate  of 
flight,  and  with  characteristic  boldness,  he  resolved  to  turn  his 
course  to  the  right,  where  the  path  was  less  covered  with  under- 
growth, and  on  which  his  encounter  would  be  with  a  single  en- 
emy only.  The  conflict  with  him,  he  sanguinely  trusted,  might 
be  ended  before  the  others  could  come  up. 

The  action,  with  such  a  temperament  as  that  of  Clarence 
Conway,  was  simultaneous  with  the  thought ;  and  a  few  mo- 
ments brought  him  upon  the  one,  opponent,  while  his  sudden 
change  of  direction,  served,  for  a  brief  space,  to  throw  the  others 
out. 

The  trooper,  whom  he  thus  singled  out  for  the  struggle,  was 
a  man  of  coolness  and  courage,  but  one  scarcely  so  strong  of 
limb,  or  so  well  exercised  in  conflict,  as  the  partisan.  He  readily 
comprehended  the  purpose  of  the  latter,  and  his  own  resolution 
was  taken  to  avoid  the  fight,  if  he  could,  and  yet  maintain  his 
relative  position,  during  the  pursuit,  with  the  enemy  he  chased. 
To  dash  aside  from  the  track,  yet  to  push  forward  at  the  same 
time,  was  his  design ;  at  all  events,  to  keep  out  of  pistol-shot 
himself,  for  a  while  at  least,  yet  be  able,  at  any  moment,  to 


CAPTIVITY  —  FINESSE.  81 

bring  his  opponent  within  range  of  his  own  weapon.  Such  a 
policy,  by  delaying  the  flight  of  the  latter,  until  the  whole  party 
should  come  up,  would  render  the  capture  inevitable. 

But  he  was  not  suffered  to  pursue  this  game  at  his  own  pleas- 
ure. The  moment  he  swerved  from  the  track,  Conway  dashed 
after  him  with  increased  earnestness,  taking  particular  care  to 
keep  himself,  meanwhile,  between  the  individual  and  his  friends. 
In  this  way  he  seemed  to  drive  the  other  before  him,  and,  as 
his  own  speed  was  necessarily  increased  under  these  circumstan- 
ces, the  man  thus  isolated  became  anxious  about  his  position,  and 
desirous  to  return.  In  a  mutual  struggle  of  this  sort,  the  event 
depended  upon  the  comparative  ability  of  the  two  horses,  and 
the  adroitness,  as  horsemen,  of  the  several  riders.  In  both  re- 
spects the  advantage  was  with  Conway;  and  he  might  have 
controlled  every  movement  of  his  enemy,  but  for  the  proximity 
of  those  who  were  now  pressing  on  behind  him. 

The  moment  became  one  of  increasing  anxiety.  They  were 
approaching  rapidly  nigher,  and  the  disparity  of  force  in  their 
tavor  was  too  considerable  to  leave  him  a  single  hope  of  a 
successful  issue  should  he  be  forced  to  an  encounter  with  the 
whole  of  them.  The  wits  of  the  partisan  were  all  put  into  ac- 
tivity. He  soon  saw  that  he  must  drive  the  individual  before 
him  entirely  out  of  his  path,  or  be  forced'  to  stand  at  bay  against 
an  attack  in  which  defence  was  hopeless.  His  resolve  was  in- 
stantaneous ;  and,  reasonably  calculating  against  the  probability 
of  any  pistol-shot  from  either  traking  effect  while  under  rapid 
flight,  and  through  the  misty  rain  then  driving  into  their  mutual 
faces,  he  resolved  to  run  down  his  enemy  by  the  sheer  physical 
powers  of  his  horse,  in  defiance  of  the  latter's  weapon  and  with- 
out seeking  to  use  his  own.  He  braced  himself  up  for  this  ex- 
ertion, and  timed  his  movement  fortunately,  at  a  moment  when, 
a  dense  thicket  presenting  itself  immediately  in  the  way  of  the 
man  before  him,  rendered  necessary  a  change  in  the  direction 
of  his  flight. 

His  reckless  and  sudden  plunge  forward  discomposed  the  ene- 
my, who  found  the  partisan  on  his  haunches  at  a  time  when  to 
turn  his  steed  became  equally  necessary  and  difficult.  To  wheel 
aside  from  the  thicket  was  the  instinctive  movement  of  the  horse 

4* 


82  THE  SCOUT. 

himself,  who  naturally  inclined  to  the  more  open  path  j  hut,  just 
under  these  circumstances,  in  his  agitation,  the  trooper  endeav- 
ored to  incline  his  bridle  hand  to  the  opposite  side,  in  order  that 
he  might  employ  his  weapon.  The  conflict  between  his  steed's 
instinct  and  his  own,  rendered  his  aim  ineffectual.  His  pistol 
was  emptied,  but  in  vain ;  and  the  rush  of  Conway's  horse  im- 
mediately followed.  The  shock  of  conflict  with  the  more  pow- 
erful animal,  precipitated  the  trooper,  horse  and  man,  to  the 
earth,  and  the  buoyant  partisan  went  over  him  with  the  rapidity 
of  a  wind-current. 

A  joyous  shout  attested  his  consciousness  of  safety — the 
outpourings  of  a  spirit  to  which  rapid  action  was  always  a 
delight,  and  strife  itself  nothing  more  than  the  exercise  of  fac- 
ulties which  seemed  to  have  been  expressly  adapted  for  all  its 
issues  of  agility  and  strength.  Secure  of  safety,  Conway  now 
dashed  onward  without  any  apprehension,  and  exulting  in  the 
fullest  sense  of  safety ;  but,  in  a  moment  after,  he  had  shared 
the  fortune  of  him  he  had  just  overthrown.  A  sudden  de- 
scent of  one  of  the  Wateree  hills  was  immediately  before  him, 
arid  in  the  increasing  dimness  of  the  twilight,  and  under  the 
rapidity  of  his  flight,  he  did  not  observe  that  its  declivity  of 
yellow  clay  had  been  freshly  washed  into  a  gulley.  His  horse 
plunged  forward  upon  the  deceptive  and  miry  surface,  and  lost 
his  footing.  A  series  of  ineffectual  plunges  which  he  made  to 
recover  himself,  only  brought  the  poor  beast  headlong  to  the 
base  of  the  hill,  where  he  lay  half  stunned  and  shivering.  His 
girth  had  broken  in  the  violent  muscular  efforts  which  he  made 
to  arrest  his  fall,  and  his  rider,  in  spite  of  every  exertion  of  skill 
and  strength,  was  thrown  forward,  and  fell,  though  with  little 
injury,  upon  the  yellow  clay  below.  He  had  barely  time  to  re- 
cover his  feet,  but  not  his  horse,  when  the  pursuers  were  upon 
him.  Resistance,  under  existing  circumstances,  would  have  been 
worse  than  useless ;  and  with  feelings  of  mortification,  much  bet- 
ter imagined  than  described,  he  yielded  himself,  with  the  best 
possible  grace,  to  the  hands  of  his  captors. 


BOUGH  USAGE  AMONG  THE  EIDERS.  83 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ROUGH   USAGE   AMONG   THE    RIDERS. 

NOTHING  could  exceed  the  surprise  of  Clarence  Conway, 
when,  conducted  by  his  captors  into  the  house  of  Muggs,  he  be- 
held the  condition  of  his  kinsman.  His  ardent  and  unsuspicious 
nature  at  once  reproached  him  with  those  doubts  which  he  had 
entertained  of  the  fidelity  of  the  latter.  He  now  wondered  at 
himself  for  the  ready  credence  which  he  had  been  disposed  to 
yield,  on  grounds  so  slight  and  unsatisfactory  as  they  then  ap- 
peared to  be,  to  the  imputations  against  one  so  near  to  him  by 
blood ;  and  with  the  natural  rapidity  of  the  generous  nature,  he 
forgot,  in  his  regrets  for  his  own  supposed  errors,  those  of  which 
his  brother  had,  as  he  well  knew,  most  certainly  been  guilty. 
He  forgot  that  it  was  not  less  a  reproach  against  Edward  Con- 
way — even  if  he  was  misrepresented  as  friendly  to  the  cause  of 
the  invader — that  he  had  forborne  to  show  that  he  was  friendly 
to  that  of  his  country ;  and,  in  that  moment  of  generous  forget- 
fulness,  even  the  suspicious  conduct  of  the  fugitive,  in  relation  to 
his  own  affair  of  heart,  passed  from  his  memory. 

".Can  it  be ! — Is  it  you,  Edward  Conway,  that  I  find  in  this 
predicament?"  were  his  first  words  when — the  speaker  being 
equally  secured — they  were  left  alone  together. 

"  You  see  me,"  was  the  reply.  "  My  ill  reputation  with  the 
one  side  does  not,  it  appears,  commend  me  to  any  favor  with  the 
other." 

"And  these  men?"  said  Clarence,  inquiringly. 

"Are,  it  would  seem,  no  other  persons  than  your  famous 
Black  Riders.  I  have  had  a  taste  of  their  discipline  already, 
and  shall  probably  enjoy  something  more  before  they  are  done 
with  me.  It  appears  that  they  have  discovered  that  I  am  as 
rabid  a  rebel  as,  by  Butler's  men,  I  was  deemed  a  tory.  They 
charge  me  with  some  small  crimes — such  as  killing  king's  men 


84  THE  SCOUT. 

and  burning  their  houses,  stabbing  women  and  roasting  children 
— to  all  of  which  charges  I  have  pleaded  not  guilty,  though 
with  very  little  chance  of  being  believed.  I  can  not  complain, 
however,  that  they  should  be  as  incredulous  in  my  behalf  as  my 
own  father's  son." 

"  Do  not  reproach  me,  Edward.  Do  me  no  injustice.  You 
can  not  deny  that  circumstances  were  against  you,  so  strong  as 
almost  to  justify  belief  in  the  mind  of  your  father  himself.  If 
any  man  ever  struggled  against  conviction,  I  was  that  man." 

"  Clarence  Conway,  you  perhaps  deceive  yourself  with  that 
notion.  But  the  truth  is,  your  jealousy  on  the  subject  of  Flora 
Middleton  has  made  you  only  too  ready  to  believe  anything 
against  me.  But  I  will  not  reproach  you.  Nay,  I  have  resolved, 
believe  what  you  may,  hereafter  to  say  nothing  in  my  defence 
or  justification.  I  have  done  something  too  much  of  this  already 
for  my  own  sense  of  self-respect.  Time  must  do  the  rest — I 
will  do  no  more." 

The  generous  nature  of  Clarence  deeply  felt  these  expres- 
sions. His  wily  kinsman  well  understood  that  nature,  and  de- 
liberately practised  upon  it.  He  listened  to  the  explanations 
and  assurances  of  the  former  with  the  doggedness  of  one 
who  feels  that  he  has  an  advantage,  and  shows  himself  reso- 
lute to  keep  it.  Still  he  was  too  much  of  a  proficient  in 
the  knowledge  of  human  nature  to  overact  the  character. 
He  spoke  but  few  words.  He  seldom  looked  at  his  brother 
while  he  spoke,  and  an  occasional  half-suppressed  sigh  be- 
tokened the  pains  of  a  spirit  conscious  of  the  keenest  wrong, 
yet  too  proud  even  to  receive  the  atonement  which  reminds  him 
of  it.  An  expression  of  sorrow  and  sadness,  but  not  unkindness, 
prevailed  over  his  features.  His  words,  if  they  did  not  betoken 
despondency,  yet  conveyed  a  feeling  almost  of  indifference  to 
whatever  might  betide  him.  The  language  of  his  look  seemed 
to  say — 

"  Suspected  by  my  best  friends,  my  father's  son  among  them, 
it  matters  little  what  may  now  befall  me.  Let  the  enemy  do 
his  worst.  I  care  not  for  these  bonds — I  care  for  nothing  that 
he  can  do." 

Nothing,  to  the  noble  heart,  is  so  afflicting  as  the  conscious- 


ROUGH   USAGE   AMONG  THE  RIDERS.  85 

ness  of  having  done  injustice ;  and  to  witness  the  suffering  of 
another,  in  consequence  of  our  injustice,  is  one  of  the  most  ex- 
cruciating of  human  miseries  to  a  nature  of  this  order.  Such 
was  the  pang  at  this  moment  in  the  bosom  of  Clarence  Conway. 
He  renewed  his  efforts  to  soothe  and  to  appease  the  resentments 
of  his  kinsman,  with  all  the  solicitude  of  truth. 

"  Believe  me,  Edward,  I  could  not  well  think  otherwise  than 
I  have  thought,  or  do  other  than  I  have  done.  You  surely  can 
not  deny  that  you  placed  yourself  in  a  false  position.  It  would 
have  been  wonderful,  indeed,  if  your  course  had  not  incurred 
suspicion." 

"  True  friendship  seldom  suspects,  and  is  the  last  to  yield  to 
the  current,  when  its  course  bears  against  the  breast  it  loves. 
But  let  us  say  no  more  on  this  subject,  Clarence.  It  has  always 
been  a  painful  one  to  me ;  and  just  now,  passing,  as  I  may  say, 
from  one  sort  of  bondage  to  another,  it  is  particularly  so.  It  is, 
perhaps,  unnecessary,  situated  as  we  are,  that  we  should  any 
longer  refer  to  it.  The  doubts  of  the  past  may  be  as  nothing  to 
the  dangers  of  the  future.  If  this  banditti  be  as  you  have  de- 
scribed them,  we  shall  have  little  time  allowed  us  to  discuss 
the  past ;  and,  for  the  future  ! " 

He  paused. 

"  And  yet,  believe  me,  Edward,  it  makes  me  far  happier  to  see 
you  in  these  bonds,  subjected  to  all  the  dangers  which  they  im- 
ply, than  to  suffer  from  the  accursed  suspicion  that  you  were  the 
leader  of  this  banditti." 

"  I  thank  you — indeed  I  thank  you  very  much — for  nothing  ! 
It  may  surprise  you  to  hear  me  say  that  your  situation  yields 
me  no  pleasure.  Your  sources  of  happiness  and  congratulation 
strike  me  as  being  very  peculiar." 

"  Edward  Conway,  why  will  you  misunderstand  me  V9 

"Do  IT 

"  Surely.    What  have  I  said  to  make  you  speak  so  bitterly  ?" 

"Nothing,  perhaps; — but  just  now,  Clarence,  my  thoughts 
and  feelings  are  rather  bitter  than  sweet,  and  may  be  supposed 
likely  to  impart  something  of  their  taste  to  what  I  say.  But  I 
begged  that  we  might  forbear  the  subject — all  subjects — at 
this  time  ;  for  the  very  reason  that  I  feared  something  might  be 


86  THE  SCOUT. 

spoken  by  one  or  both  which  would  make  us  think  more  un- 
kindly of  each  other  than  before — which  would  increase  the 
gulf  between  us." 

"  I  think  not  unkindly  of  you,  Edward.  I  regret  what  I  have 
spoken  unkindly,  though  under  circumstances  which,  I  still  in- 
sist, might  justify  the  worst  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  the  best  of 
friends.  There  is  no  gulf  between  us  now,  Edward  Conway." 

"Ay,  but  there  is;  an  impassable  one  for  both — a  barrier 
which  we  have  built  up  with  mutual  industry,  and  which  must 
stand  between  us  for  ever.  Know  you  Flora  Middleton  1  Ha ! 
Do  you  understand  me  now,  Clarence  Conway  1  I  see  you  do 
— you  are  silent." 

Clarence  was,  indeed,  silent.  Painful  was  the  conviction,  that 
made  him  so.  He  felt  the  truth  of  what  his  brother  had  spoken. 
He  felt  that  there  was  a  gulf  between  them ;  and  he  felt  also 
that  the  look  and  manner  of  his  kinsman,  while  he  spoke  the 
name,  together  with  the  tone  of  voice  in  which  it  was  spoken, 
had  most  unaccountably,  and  most  immeasurably,  enlarged  that 
gulf.  What  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  1  What  was  that 
mysterious  antipathy  of  soul  which  could  comprehend  so  instantly 
the  instinct  hate  and  bitterness  in  that  of  another  ?  Clarence 
felt  at  this  moment  that,  though  his  suspicions  of  Edward  Con- 
way,  as  the  chief  of  the  Black  Eiders,  were  all  dissipated  by  the 
position  in  which  he  found  him,  yet  he  loved  him  still  less  than 
before.  The  tie  of  blood  was  weakened  yet  more  than  ever, 
and  its  secret  currents  were  boiling  up  in  either  breast,  with 
suppressed  but  increasing  hostility. 

The  pause  was  long  and  painful  which  ensued  between  them. 
At  length  Clarence  broke  the  silence.  His  manner  was  sub- 
dued, but  the  soul  within  him  was  strengthened.  The  course 
of  his  kinsman  had  not  continued  to  its  close  as  judicious  as  it 
seemed  at  the  beginning.  It  had  been  a  wiser  policy  had  he 
forborne  even  the  intimation  of  reproach — had  he  assumed  an 
aspect  of  greater  kindness  and  love  toward  his  companion  in 
misfortune,  and  striven,  by  a  studious  display  of  cheerfulness,  to 
prove  to  his  brother  that  he  was  only  apprehensive  lest  the  situ- 
ation in  which  the  latter  had  found  him  might  tend  too  much  to 
his  own  self-reproach. 


ROUGH   USAGE   AMONG   THE   RIDERS.  87 

Such  would  have  been  the  course  of  a  generous  foe.  Such 
should  have  been  the  course  of  one  toward  a  generous  friend. 
Forbearance,  at  such  a  moment,  would  have  been  the  very  best 
proof  of  the  presence  of  a  real  kindness.  But  it  was  in  this  very 
particular  that  the  mind  of  Edward  Conway  was  weak.  He 
was  too  selfish  a  man  to  know  what  magnanimity  is.  He  did 
not  sufficiently  comprehend  the  nature  of  the  man  he  addressed ; 
and,  though  the  situation  in  which  the  latter  found  him  had  its 
effect,  yet  the  policy,  which  he  subsequently  pursued,  most  ef- 
fectually defeated  many  of  the  moral  advantages  which  must 
have  resulted  to  him,  in  the  mind  of  his  brother,  from  a  more 
liberal  train  of  conduct. 

The  reference  to  Flora  Middleton  placed  Clarence  on  his 
guard.  It  reminded  him  that  there  were  more  grounds  of  dif- 
ference between  himself  and  kinsman  than  he  had  been  just 
before  prepared  to  remember.  It  reminded  him  that  Edward 
Conway  had  been  guilty  of  a  mean  evasion,  very  like  a  false- 
hood, in  speaking  of  this  lady ;  and  this  remembrance  revived 
all  his  former  personal  distrusts,  however  hushed  now  might  be 
all  such  as  were  purely  political.  Edward  Conway  discovered 
that  he  had  made  a  false  move  in  the  game  the  moment  that  his 
brother  resumed  his  speech.  He  was  sagacious  enough  to  per- 
ceive his  error,  though  he  vainly  then  might  have  striven  to 
repair  it.  Clarence,  meanwhile,  proceeded  as  follows,  with  a 
grave  severity  of  manner,  which  proved  that,  on  one  subject  at 
least,  he  could  neither  be  abused  nor  trifled  with. 

"  You  have  named  Flora  Middleton,  Edward  Conway.  With 
me  that  name  is  sacred.  I  owe  it  to  my  own  feelings,  as  well 
as  to  her  worth,  that  it  should  not  be  spoken  with  irreverence. 
What  purpose  do  you  propose  by  naming  her  to  me,  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  with  such  a  suggestion  ?" 

The  outlaw  assumed  a  bolder  tone  and  a  higher  position  than 
he  took  when  the  same  subject  was  discussed  between  them  in 
the  swamp.  There  was  an  air  of  defiance  in  his  manner,  as  he 
replied,  which  aroused  all  the  gall  in  his  brother's  bosom. 

"  Am  1  to  tell  you  now,  for  the  first  time,  Clarence  Conway, 
that  I  love  Flora  Middleton  ]" 

"Ha!— Is  it  so?— Well!" 


88  THE  SCOUT. 

I  "It  is  even  so!  I  love  Flora  Middle  ton — as  I  long  have 
loved  her." 

"  You  are  bold,  Edward  Conway  !  Am  I  to  understand  from 
this  that  you  propose  to  urge  your  claims  V1 

"  One  does  not  usually  entertain  such  feelings  without  some 
hope  to  gratify  them ;  and  I  claim  to  possess  all  the  ordinary 
desires  and  expectations  of  humanity." 

"  Be  it  so,  then,  Edward  Conway,"  replied  Clarence,  with  a 
strong  effort  at  composure.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  if  I  mistake 
not,  there  was  an  understanding  between  us  on  this  subject. 
You—" 

"  Ay,  ay,  to  pacify  you — to  avoid  strife  with  my  father's  son, 
Clarence  Conway,  I  made  some  foolish  promise  to  subdue  my 
own  feelings  out  of  respect  to  yours — some  weak  and  unmanly 
concessions !" 

"  Well !     Have  you  now  resolved  otherwise  1" 

"  Why,  the  truth  is,  Clarence,  it  is  something  ridiculous  for 
either  of  us  to  be  talking  of  our  future  purposes,  while  in  such  a 
predicament  as  this.  Perhaps  we  had  better  be  at  our  prayers, 
preparing  for  the  worst.  If  half  be  true  that  is  said  of  these 
Black  Riders,  a  short  shrift  and  a  sure  cord  are  the  most  prob- 
able of  their  gifts.  We  need  not  quarrel  about  a  woman  on  the 
edge  of  the  grave." 

"  Were  death  sure,  and  at  hand,  Edward  Conway,  my  prin- 
ciples should  be  equally  certain,  and  expressed  without  fear. 
Am  I  to  understand  that  you  have  resolved  to  disregard  my 
superior  claims,  and  to  pursue  Flora  Middleton  with  your  atten- 
tions ]" 

"  Your  superior  claims,  Clarence,"  replied  the  other,  "  consist 
simply,  if  I  understand  the  matter  rightly,  in  your  having  seen 
the  lady  before  myself,  and  by  so  many  months  only  having  the 
start  of  me  in  our  mutual  admiration  of  her  charms.  I  have  not 
learned  that  she  has  given  you  to  suppose  that  she  regards  you 
with  more  favor  than  she  does  myself." 

A  warm  flush  passed  over  the  before  pale  features  of  Clarence 
Conway.  His  lip  was  agitated,  and  its  quivering  only  suppressed 
by  a  strong  effort. 

"  Enough,  sir !"  he  exclaimed — '•  we  understand  each  other." 


ROUGH   USAGE   AMONG  THE   RIDERS.  89 

There  was  probably  some  little  mockery  in  the  mood  of  Ed- 
ward Conway  as  he  urged  the  matter  to  a  further  point. 

"  But  let  me  know,  Clarence.  Something  of  my  own  course 
will  certainly  depend — that  is,  if  I  am  ever  again  free  from  the 

clutches  of  these "  The  sentence  was  left  unfinished  by  the 

speaker,  as  if  through  an  apprehension  that  he  might  have  more 
auditors  than  the  one  he  addressed.  He  renewed  the  sentence, 
cautiously  omitting  the  offensive  member:  — 

"  Something  of  my  course,  Clarence,  will  surely  depend  on 
my  knowledge  of  your  claims.  If  they  are  superior  to  mine,  or 
to  those  of  a  thousand  others — if  she  has  given  you  to  under- 
stand that  she  has  a  preference " 

The  flush  increased  upon  the  cheek  of  the  younger  kinsman 
as  he  replied — 

"  Let  me  do  her  justice,  sir.  It  is  with  some  sense  of  shame 
that  I  speak  again  of  her  in  a  discussion  such  as  this.  Miss 
Middleton  has  given  me  no  claim — she  has  shown  me  no  prefer- 
ence— such  as  I  could  build  upon  for  an  instant.  But,  my  claim 
was  on  you,  Edward  Conway.  You  were  carried  by  me  to  her 
dwelling.  She  was  made  known  to  you  by  me ;  and,  before 
this  was  done,  I  had  declared  to  you  my  own  deep  interest  in 
her.  You  saw  into  the  secret  and  sacred  plans  of  my  heart — 
you  heard  from  my  own  lips  the  extent  of  my  affection  for  her ; 
and — but  I  can  speak  no  more  of  this  without  anger,  and  anger 
here  is  impotence.  Take  your  course,  Edward  Conway,  and 
assert  your  desires  as  you  may.  Henceforward  I  understand 
you,  and  on  this  subject  beg  to  be  silent." 

Edward  Conway  was  not  unwilling  that  further  discussion  of 
this  subject  should  cease.  He  had  effected  the  object  which  he 
aimed  at  when  he  broached  it ;  and  tacitly  it  was  felt  by  both 
parties,  that  words  were  no  longer  satisfactory,  as  weapons,  in 
such  an  argument  as  theirs.  The  silence  was  unbroken  by 
either,  and  the  two  fettered  captives  sat  apart,  their  eyes  no 
longer  meeting. 

The  hour  had  elapsed  which,  by  the  previous  instructions  of 
the  outlaw  chief,  had  been  accorded  to  the  interview  between 
himself  and  kinsman.  The  object  of  his  finesse  had,  as  he  be- 
lieved, been  fully  answered ;  and,  at  this  stage  of  the  interview, 


90  THE  SCOUT. 

Williams  his  counterfeit  presentment  made  his  appearance,  with 
all  due  terrors  of  authority,  clad  in  sable,  savage  in  hair  and 
beard,  with  a  brow  clothed  in  gloomy  and  stern  purposes,  and  as 
if  prepared  to  pronounce  the  doom  which  the  fearful  reputation 
of  the  Black  Riders  might  well  have  counselled  the  innocent 
prisoner  to  expect.  But  something  further  of  the  farce  remained 
to  be  played  out,  and  Clarence  Conway  was  the  curious  witness 
to  a  long  examination  to  which  his  fellow-prisoner  was  subject- 
ed, the  object  of  which  seemed  to  be  to  establish  the  fact  that 
Edward  Conway  was  himself  a  most  inveterate  rebel.  A  part 
of  this  examination  may  be  given. 

"  You  do  not  deny  that  your  name  is  Conway  1" 

"  I  do  not,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Colonel  Conway,  of  Sumter's  Brigade  V' 

"Jam  Colonel  Conway,  of  Sumter's  Brigade,"  said  Clarence, 
interposing. 

"  Time  enough  to  answer  for  yourself  when  you  are  asked ! 
— that  story  won't  go  down  with  us,  my  good  fellow,"  sternly 
exclaimed  the  acting  chief  of  the  banditti.  "  Shumway,"  he  ex- 
claimed, turning  to  a  subordinate,  "  why  the  d — 1  were  these 
d — d  rebels  put  together  1  They  have  been  cooking  up  a  story 
between  them,  and  hanging  now  will  hardly  get  the  truth  out 
of  either !  We'll  see  what  Muggs  can  tell  us.  He  should  know 
this  fellow  Conway." 

"  Muggs  has  gone  to  bed,  sir." 

"  Wake  him  up  and  turn  him  out,  at  the  invitation  of  a  rope's 
end.  I'm  suspicious  that  Muggs  is  half  a  rebel  himself,  he's 
lived  so  long  in  this  rascally  neighborhood,  and  must  be  looked 
after." 

Shumway  disappeared,  and  the  examination  proceeded. 

"  Do  you  still  deny  that  you  are  Colonel  Conway,  of  Sumter's 
brigade  1  Beware  now  of  your  answer — we  have  other  rebels 
to  confront  you  with." 

The  question  was  still  addressed  to  the  elder  of  the  kinsmen. 
His  reply  was  made  with  grave  composure.  "  I  do.  My  name  is 
Conway,  as  I  declared  to  you  before ;  but  I  am  not  of  Sumter's 
brigade,  nor  of  any  brigade.  I  am  not  a  colonel,  and  never  hope 
to  be  made  one." 


ROUGH   USAGE   AMONG   THE   EIDERS.  91 

"  Indeed  !  but  you  hope  to  get  off  with  that  d — d  pack  of  lies, 
do  you,  in  spite  of  all  the  evidence  against  you  ?  But  you  are 
mistaken.  I  wouldn't  give  a  continental  copper  for  the  safety 
of  your  skin,  colonel." 

"  If  the  commission  of  Governor  Rutledge  of  South  Carolina 
will  be  any  evidence  to  show  who  is,  and  who  is  not,  Colonel 
Conway,  of  Sumter's  brigade,"  was  the  second  interruption  of 
Clarence,  "  that  commission  will  be  found  in  my  pocket." 

"And  what  will  that  prove,  you  d- — d  rebel,  but  that  it  has 
been  slipped  from  one  to  the  other  as  you  each  wanted  it.  Your 
shifting  commissions  are  well  known  make-shifts  among  you,  and 
we  know  too  well  their  value  to  put  much  faith  in  them.  But 
can  you  guess,  my  good  fellow,"  turning  to  Clarence,  "you,  who 
are  so  anxious  to  prove  yourself  a  colonel — can  you  guess  what 
it  will  cost  you  to  establish  the  fact?  Do  you  know  that  a 
swinging  bough  will  be  your  first  halting-place,  and  your  first 
bow  shall  be  made  to  a  halter?" 

"  If  you  think  to  terrify  me  by  such  threats,  you  are  mistaken 
in  your  man,"  replied  Clarence,  Tvith  features  which  amply  de- 
noted the  wholesale  scorn  within  his  bosom ;  "  and  if  you  dare  to 
carry  your  threats  into  execution,  you  as  little  know  the  men  of 
Sumter's  brigade,  the  meanest  of  whom  would  promptly  peril  his 
own  life  to  exact  fearful  and  bloody  retribution  for  the  deed.  I 
am  Colonel  Conway,  and,  dog  of  a  tory,  I  defy  you.  Do  your 
worst.  I  know  you  dare  do  nothing  of  the  sort  you  threaten. 
I  defy  and  spit  upon  you." 

The  face  of  the  outlaw  blackened  :  —  Clarence  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Ha !  think  you  so  ]  We  shall  see.  Shumway,  Frink,  Gas- 
son ! — you  three  are  enough  to  saddle  this  fiery  rebel  to  his  last 
horse.  Noose  him,  you  slow  moving  scoundrels,  to  the  nearest 
sapling,  and  let  him  grow  wiser  in  the  wind.  To  your  work, 
villains — away !" 

The  hands  of  more  than  one  of  the  ruffians  were  already  on 
the  shoulders  of  the  partisan.  Though  shocked  at  the  seeming 
certainty  of  a  deed  which  he  had  not  been  willing  to  believe 
they  would  venture  to  execute,  he  yet  preserved  the  fearless 
aspect  which  he  had  heretofore  shown.  His  lips  still  uttered 
the  language  of  defiance.  He  made  no  concessions,  he  asked 


92  THE  SCOUT. 

for  no  delay — he  simply  denounced  against  them  the  vengeance 
of  his  command,  and  that  of  his  reckless  commander,  whose  fiery 
energy  of  soul  and  rapidity  of  execution  they  well  knew. 

His  language  tended  still  farther  to  exasperate  the  person  who 
acted  in  the  capacity  of  the  outlaw  chief.  Furiously,  as  if  to 
second  the  subordinates  in  the  awful  duty  in  which  they  seemed 
to  him  to  linger,  he  grasped  the  throat  of  Clarence  Conway  with 
his  own  hands,  and  proceeded  to  drag  him  forward.  He  did  not 
see  the  significant  gesture  of  head,  glance  of  eye,  and  impatient 
movement  of  Edward  Conway,  while  he  thundered  out  his  com- 
mands and  curses.  The  latter  could  not,  while  seeking  to  pre- 
serve the  new  character  in  which  he  had  placed  himself,  take 
any  more  decided  means  to  make  his  wishes  understood ;  and  it 
was  with  feelings  of  apprehension  and  annoyance,  new  even  to 
himself,  that  he  beheld  the  prompt  savage,  to  whom  he  had  in- 
trusted the  temporary  command,  about  to  perform  a  deed  which 
a  secret  and  mysterious  something  in  his  soul  would  not  permit 
him  to  authorize  or  behold,  however  much  he  might  have  been 
willing  to  reap  its  pleasant  fruits  when  done. 

There  was  evidently  no  faltering  in  the  fearful  purpose  of  his 
representative.  Everything  was  serious.  He  was  too  familiar 
with  such  deeds  to  make  him  at  all  heedful  of  consequences ; 
and  the  proud  bearing  of  the  youth ;  the  unmitigated  scorn  in 
his  looks  and  language ;  the  hateful  words  which  he  had  used, 
and  the  threats  which  he  had  denounced ;  while  they  exaspera- 
ted all  around,  almost  maddened  the  ruffian  in  command,  to 
whom  such  defiance  was  new,  and  with  whom  the  taking  of  life 
was  a  circumstance  equally  familiar  and  indiiferent. 

"  Three  minutes  for  prayer  is  all  the  grace  I  give  him!"  he 
cried,  hoarsely,  as  he  helped  the  subordinates  to  drag  the  des- 
tined victim  toward  the  door. 

These  were  the  last  words  he  was  allowed  to  utter.  He 
himself  was  not  allowed  a  single  minute.  The  speech  was 
scarcely  spoken,  when  he  fell  prostrate  on  his  face,  stricken  in 
the  mouth  by  a  rifle-bullet,  which  entered  through  an  aperture 
in  the  wall  opposite.  His  blood  and  brains  bespattered  the 
breast  of  Clarence  Conway,  whom  his  falling  body  also  bore  to 
the  floor  of  the  apartment. 


A    CRISIS.  93 

A  wild  shout  from  without  followed  the  shot,  and  rose,  strong 
and  piercing,  above  all  the  clamor  within.  In  that  sliout  Clar- 
ence could  not  doubt  that  he  heard  the  manly  voice  of  the  faith- 
ful Jack  Bannister,  and  the  deed  spoke  for  itself.  It  could  have 
been  the  deed  of  a  friend  only. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A    CRISIS. 

f  HE  sensation  produced  on  all  the  parties  by  this  sudden 
stroke  of  retribution  was  indescribable.  The  fate  of  Clarence 
Conway  was  suspended  for  a  while.  The  executioners  stood 
aghast.  They  relaxed  their  hold  upon  the  prisoner ;  all  their 
powers  being  seemingly  paralyzed  in  amazement  and  alarm. 
Tacitly,  every  eye,  with  the  instinct  of  an  ancient  habit,  was 
turned  upon  Edward  Conway.  He,  too,  had  partaken,  to  a 
large  degree,  of  the  excitement  of  the  scene.  The  old  habits 
of  command  reobtained  their  ascendency.  He  forgot,  for  the 
instant,  the  novel  position  in  which  he  stood;  the  assumed 
character  which  he  played,  and  all  the  grave  mummery  of  his 
bondage  and  disguise.  Starting  to  his  feet,  when  the  first  feel- 
ing of  surprise  had  passed,  he  shouted  aloud  in  the  language  of 
authority. 

"  Away,  knaves,  and  follow.  Why  do  you  gape  and  loiter  ? 
Pursue  the  assassin.  Let  him  not  escape  you !  Away  !" 

He  was  obeyed  by  all  the  troopers  present.  They  rushed 
headlong  from  the  dwelling  with  a  sanguinary  shout.  The  two 
brothers,  still  bound,  were  left  alone  together.  The  paroxysm 
of  passion  in  the  one  was  over.  He  was  recalled  to  a  conscious- 
ness of  the  wily  game  he  had  been  playing  the  moment  that  he 
started  to  his  feet  and  issued  his  commands.  The  pressure  of 
the  tight  cords  upon  his  arms,  when  he  would  have  extended 
them  to  his  men,  brought  back  all  his  memories.  In  an  instant 
he  felt  his  error,  and  apprehended  the  consequences.  His  eye 


94  THE  SCOUT. 

naturally  turned  in  search  of  his  kinsman,  who  stood  erect,  a 
surprised  but  calm  spectator. 

He  had  witnessed  the  action,  had  seen  the  excitement,  and 
heard  the  language  of  Edward  Conway;  but  these  did  not 
seem  to  him  too  extravagant  for  the  temper  of  one  easily  moved, 
who  was  yet  innocent  of  any  improper  connection  with  the 
criminals.  The  circumstances  which  had  taken  place  were 
sufficiently  exciting  to  account  for  these  ebullitions,  without 
awakening  any  suspicions  of  the  truth.  It  is  true  that  the 
fierce  command,  so  familiarly  addressed  to  the  robbers  by  their 
prisoner,  did  seem  strange  enough  to  the  unsuspecting  Clarence ; 
but  even  this  was  natural  enough.  Nor  was  it  less  so  that  they 
should  so  readily  obey  orders  coming  from  any  lips  which,  to 
them,  conveyed  so  correctly  the  instructions  to  their  duty.  Be- 
sides, the  clamor,  the  uproar,  the  confusion  and  hubbub  of  the 
scene,  not  to  speak  of  those  conflicting  emotions  under  which 
Clarence  Conway  suffered  at  a  moment  so  full,  seemingly,  of 
the  last  peril  to  himself,  served  to  distract  his  senses  and  impair 
the  just  powers  of  judgment  in  his  mind.  He  felt  that  Edward 
Conway  had  acted  unexpectedly — had  shown  a  singular  activi- 
ty which  did  not  seem  exactly  called  for,  and  was  scarce  due  to 
those  in  whose  behalf  it  was  displayed ;  but,  making  due  allow- 
ance for  the  different  effects  of  fright  and  excitement  upon  dif- 
ferent temperaments,  he  did  not  regard  his  conduct  as  strange 
or  unnatural,  however  unnecessary  it  might  seem,  and,  perhaps, 
impolitic.  It  was  the  first  thought  in  this  mind  that  Edward 
Conway,  in  his  great  agitation,  did  not  seem  to  recollect  that 
the  assassination  which  had  taken  place  was  probably  the  only 
event  which  could  then  have  saved  his  life. 

These  reflections  did  not  occur  to  the  mind  of  the  latter. 
Conscious  of  equal  guilt  and  indiscretion,  the  apprehensions  of 
Edward  Conway  were  all  awakened  for  his  secret.  The  lower- 
ing and  suspicious  glance  which  he  watched  in  the  eye  of  his 
kinsman,  and  which  had  its  origin  in  a  portion  of  the  previous 
conference  between  them,  he  was  at  once  ready  to  ascribe  to 
the  discovery,  by  the  latter,  of  his  own  criminal  connection  with 
the  outlaws.  In  his  anxiety,  he  was  not  aware  that  he  had  not 
said  enough  to  declare  his  true  character — that  he  had  only 


A   CRISIS.  95 

used  the  language  which  any  citizen  might  employ  without 
censure,  on  beholding  the  performance,  by  another,  of  any  sud- 
den and  atrocious  outrage. 

So  impressed  was  he  with  the  conviction  that  he  had  betrayed 
the  whole  truth  by  his  imprudence,  that  the  resolution  in  his 
mind  was  partly  formed  to  declare  himself  boldly  and  bid  de- 
fiance to  all  consequences.  What  had  he  now  to  fear  ?  was  his 
natural  reflection.  Why  should  he  strive  longer  to  keep  terms 
with  one  with  whom  he  must  inevitably  break  in  the  end  ? 
Clarence  Conway  was  his  rival,  was  his  enemy,  and  was  in  his 
power.  He  had  already  felt  the  humiliation  resulting  from  the 
unbecoming  equivocal  positions  in  which  he  stood  to  him.  He 
had  bowed  to  him^  when  he  felt  how  much  more  grateful  would 
be  the  mood  to  battle  with  him.  He  had  displayed  the  smile 
of  conciliation,  when,  in  his  heart,  he  felt  all  the  bitterness  of 
dislike  and  hate.  Why  should  he  longer  seek  to  maintain  ap- 
pearances with  one  from  whom  he  now  had  seemingly  nothing 
to  fear  1  Why  not,  at  once,  by  a  bold  avowal  of  his  course, 
justify,  in  the  language  of  defiance,  the  hostile  position  in  which 
he  stood  equally  to  his  country  and  his  kinsman  ] 

Such  a  course  would  amply  account  for  the  past;  and,  in 
those  arguments  by  which  the  loyalists  of  that  day  found  a 
sanction  for  their  adherence  to  the  mother-country,  he  might 
well  claim  all  the  rights  of  position  due  to  one,  whatever  may 
be  his  errors  of  judgment,  who  draws  his  sword  in  behalf  of  his 
principles. 

Such  were  some  of  the  arguments  drawn  from  the  seeming 
necessity  of  the  case,  which  rapidly  passed  through  the  mind 
of  Edward  Conway  as  he  watched  the  play  of  mingled  surprise 
and  disquiet  in  the  features  of  his  kinsman.  But  they  were 
not  conclusive.  They  were  still  combated  by  the  last  lingering 
sentiments  of  humanity  and  blood.  Clarence  Conway  was  still 
his  kinsman,  and  more  than  that,  he  owed  him  a  life. 

"  Besides,"  was  the  language  of  his  second  thoughts,  "  his 
myrmidons  even  now  may  be  around  us.  Let  us  first  see  the 
result  of  this  pursuit." 

New  apprehensions  arose  from  this  last  reflection.  That  the 
followers  of  Clarence  Conway  were  not  far  off  was  the  very 


96  THE  SCOUT. 

natural  reflection  of  every  mind,  after  the  sudden  and  fearful 
death  of  him  who  had  been  the  chosen  representative  of  their 
chief.  That  the  shot  which  slew  Williams  was  meant  for  the  chief 
of  the  Black  Riders,  was  his  own  reflection ;  and  it  counselled 
continued  prudence  for  the  present.  The  game  which  he  pro- 
posed in  the  prosecuting  his  purposes  equally  with  Flora  Middle- 
ton  and  his  brother,  was  best  promoted  by  his  present  forbear- 
ance— by  his  still  continuing,  at  least  while  in  the  presence  of 
Clarence  Conway,  to  preserve  his  doubtful  position  as  a  prisoner. 

He  sank  back,  accordingly,  upon  the  bulk  from  which  he  had 
arisen  in  the  first  moment  of  the  alarm.  His  efforts  were 
addressed  to  the  task  of  composing  his  features,  and  assuming 
the  subdued  aspect  of  one  who  stands  in  equal  doubt  and  ap- 
prehension of  his  fate.  Some  moments  of  anxiety  elapsed,  in 
which  neither  of  the  kinsmen  spoke.  Clarence,  in  the  mean- 
time, had  also  resumed  his  seat.  He  no  longer  looked  toward 
his  companion.  His  heart  was  filled  with  apprehension,  in  which 
his  own  fate  had  no  concern.  He  trembled  now  for  the  life  of 
the  faithful  woodman — for  he  did  not  doubt  that  it  was  he — 
who  had  tracked  his  footsteps,  and  so  promptly  interfered  at  the 
hazard  of  his  own  life,  to  exact  that  of  his  enemy.  The  senses 
of  the  youth  were  sharpened  to  an  intense  keenness.  He  could 
hear  the  distant  clamors  of  the  hunt  without.  The  shouts  and 
shrieks  of  rage,  breaking,  as  th.ey  rose,  far  above  the  rush  of 
the  winds  and  the  monotonous  patterings  of  the  rain.  He  was 
roused  from  an  attention  at  once  painful  and  unavoidable  by  the 
accents  of  his  kinsman. 

"Clarence!"  said  the  latter,  "this  is  a  terrible  affair — the 
murder  of  this  man  !" 

"  Scarcely  so  terrible  to  me  ;"  was  the  cold  reply — "  it  pro- 
longed my  life — the  wretch  would  have  murdered  me,  and  I 
look  upon  his  corse  without  horror  or  regret !" 

"  Impossible  !  His  purpose  was  only  to  intimidate — he  would 
never  have  dared  the  commission  of  such  a  crime." 

"  You  are  yet  to  learn  the  deeds  of  the  Black  Riders ;  you 
know  not  how  much  such  outlawed  wretches  will  dare  in  the  : 
very  desperation  of  their  hearts." 

"That  was  a  dreadful  deed,  however; — so  swift,  so  sudden, 


A   CRISIS.  97 

I  confess  it  almost  unmanned  me.     I  felt  desperate  with  terror 
I  know  not  what  I  said." 

"  So  I  thought,"  replied  Clarence,  "  for  you  actually  shouted 
to  the  wretches  to  pursue  the  murderer,  and  he,  too,  that  noble 
fellow,  Jack  Bannister.  He  has  stood  between  me  and  death 
before.  You  also,  Edward  Conway,  owe  him  a  life." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  he,  Clarence  ?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.     I  am  sure  of  his  halloo." 

"  If  they  catch  him  ! — " 

"  God  forbid  that  they  should  !" 

"  If  they  should  not,  we  shall  probably  pay  for  his  boldness. 
They  will  wreak  their  fury  on  our  heads,  if  they  be  the  bloody 
wretches  that  you  describe  them." 

"  I  am  prepared  for  the  worst.  I  am  their  prisoner,  but  I 
fear  nothing.  I,  at  least,  Edward  Conway,  am  somewhat  pro- 
tected by  the  rights  and  usages  of  war ;  but  you — " 

"  Much  good  did  these  rights  promise  you  a  few  minutes  past," 
said  the  other,  sarcastically,  "unless  my  conjecture  be  the  right 
one.  According  to  your  notion,  precious  little  respect  would 
these  men  have  had  for  the  usages  of  war.  Their  own  usages, 
by  your  own  showing,  have  long  since  legitimated  hanging  and 
burning,  and  such  small  practices." 

"  I  should  not  have  perished  unavenged.  Nay,  you  see  al- 
ready how  closely  the  avenger  follows  upon  the  footsteps  of  the 
criminal.  For  every  drop  of  my  blood  shed  unlawfully,  there 
would  be  a  fearful  drain  from  the  heart  of  every  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  Sumter." 

"  That,  methinks,  were  a  sorry  satisfaction.  To  me,  I  con- 
fess, it  would  afford  very  little  pleasure  to  be  told,  while  I  am 
swinging,  that  some  one  or  more  of  my  enemies  will  share  my 
fate  in  order  that  the  balance-sheet  between  the  two  armies  may 
be  struck  to  their  mutual  satisfaction.  My  manes  would,  on  the 
other  side  of  Styx,  derive  small  comfort  from  beholding  the 
ghost  of  my  foe  following  close  behind  me,  with  a  neck  having 
a  like  ugly  twist  with  my  own,  which  he  admits  having  received 
on  my  account." 

"The  jest  is  a  bald  one  that's  born  under  the  gallows,"  re- 
plied Clarence,  gravely,  with  a  whig  proverb. 

5 


98  THE  SCOUT. 

"  Ay,  but  I  am  not  there  yet,"  replied  the  other ;  "  and,  with 
God's  blessing,  I  hope  that  the  tree  and  day  are  equally  far 
distant  which  shall  witness  such  an  unhappy  suspension  of  my 
limbs  and  labors." 

"  If  I  stand  in  such  peril,"  replied  Clarence  Conway,  "  hold- 
ing as  I  do  a  commission  from  the  state  authorities,  I  can  not 
understand  how  it  can  be  that  you  should  escape,  having,  un- 
happily, no  such  sanction,  and  being  so  much  more  in  danger 
from  their  suspicion.  I  sincerely  trust  that  you  will  escape, 
Edward  Conway;  but  you  see  the  perilous  circumstances  in 
which  you  are  placed  by  your  unhappy  neglect  of  the  proper 
duties  to  your  country  and  yourself." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Clarence,  that  your  commission  will  hardly 
prevail  upon  them  to  make  any  difference  in  their  treatment  of 
us." 

"  And  yet,  I  wish  to  Heaven  Edward  Conway,  that  both  of 
my  father's  sons  were  equally  well  provided." 

"  Do  you  really  wish  it,  Clarence  ?" 

"  From  my  soul  I  do,"  was  the  reply.  "  Gladly  now,  could 
I  do  so,  would  I  place  my  commission  in  your  hands." 

"  Indeed  !  would  you  do  this,  Clarence  Conway  ?  Are  you 
serious  ?"  demanded  the  elder  kinsman,  with  looks  of  consider- 
able interest  and  surprise. 

"  Serious !  Do  you  know  me  so  little  as  to  make  such  an 
inquiry!  Would  I  trifle  at  such  a  moment  with  any  man?  — 
Could  I  trifle  so  with  a  kinsman  1  No  !  Bound  as  we  both  are, 
the  desire  is  idle  enough ;  but,  could  it  be  done,  Edward  Con- 
way,  freely  would  I  place  the  parchment  in  your  hands  with  all 
the  privileges  which  belong  to  it." 

"  And  you " 

"Would  take  my  risk — would  defy  them  to  the  last — and 
rely  upon  their  fears  of  that  justice  which  would  certainly  follow 
any  attempt  upon  my  life  while  I  remain  their  prisoner." 

The  chief  of  the  Black  Riders  rose  from  the  bulk  on  which 
he  had  been  seated,  and  twice,  thrice,  he  paced  the  apartment 
without  speaking.  Deep  shadows  passed  over  his  countenance, 
and  low  muttering  sounds,  which  were  not  words,  escaped  at 
moments  through  his  closed  teeth.  He  seemed  to  be  struggling 


A   CRISIS.  99 

with  some  new  emotion,  which  baffled  his  control  and  judgment 
equally.  At  length  he  stopped  short  in  front  of  his  kinsman. 
He  had  succeeded  in  composing  his  features,  which  were  now 
mantled  with  a  smile. 

"  Clarence,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  a  very  generous  fellow. 
You  always  were,  even  in  your  boyhood.  Your  proffer  to  me 
loses  nothing  of  its  liberality  because  it  would  be  injurious  rather 
than  beneficial  to  me.  Your  intention  is  everything.  But,  I 
can  not  accept  your  gift — it  would  be  to  me  the  shirt  of  Nessus. 
It  would  be  my  death,  and  if  you  take  my  counsel  you  will  say 
nothing  of  it.  Better  by  far  had  you  left  it  in  the  swamp. 
Have  you  forgotten  that  I  am  here,  under  these  very  bonds, 
charged  with  no  worse  offence  than  that  of  being  Colonel  Clar- 
ence Con  way.  If  I  could  be  secure  from  this  imputation,  per- 
haps I  would  escape  with  no  worse  evil  than  the  scars  they 
have  given  me." 

"  True,  true  !  These  after  matters  had  driven  the  other  from 
my  thought.  I  recollect — I  had  even  given  my  testimony  on 
that  head. — If  it  will  serve  you,  I  will  again  repeat  the  truth, 
though  they  hew  me  down  the  next  instant." 

"  Say  nothing  rashly,  Clarence.  You  are  as  excessively  bold 
as  you  are  generous — every  way  an  extravagant  man.  Sup- 
press your  commission,  if  you  can,  for  I'm  doubtful  if  it  can  do 
you  any  good  with  these  people,  and  it  may  do  you  serious 
harm.  They  make  little  heed,  I  fear,  of  law  and  parchment. 
But  hark !  The  shouting  becomes  nearer  and  louder.  They 
are  returning  ;  they  have  taken  the  assassin  !" 

"God  forbid!"  was  the  involuntary  ejaculation  of  Clarence, 
while  a  cold  shudder  passed  over  his  frame  at  the  apprehension. 
"  God  forbid  !  Besides,  Edward  Conway,  he  is  no  assassin." 

"  Still  generous,  if  not  wise !"  was  the  remark  of  his  com- 
panion, who  added:  "Perhaps,  Clarence,  our  only  hope  of 
safety  depends  upon  their  having  their  victim." 

"  I  love  life ;  life  is  precious  to  me,"  said  the  other ;  "  but  it 
would  be  a  bitterness  and  a  loathing  could  I  feel  it  were  to  be 
purchased  by  the  sacrifice  of  that  worthy  fellow." 

"We  shall  soon  see.  Here  they  come.  Our  trial  is  at 
hand." 


100  THE   SCOUT. 

No  more  words  were  permitted  to  either  speaker.  The  uproar 
of  conflicting  voices  without,  the  questioning  and  counselling, 
the  cries  and  clamors,  effectually  stunned  and  silenced  the  two 
within.  Then  came  a  rush.  The  door  was  thrown  open,  and 
in  poured  the  troop,  in  a  state  of  fury,  vexation,  and  disap- 
pointment. -"•—  "" 

They  had  failed  to  track  the  assassin.  The  darkness  of  the 
night,  the  prevalence  of  the  storm,  and  the  absence  of  every 
trace  of  his  footsteps — which  the  rain  obliterated  as  soon  as  it 
was  set  down — served  to  baffle  their  efforts  and  defeat  their 
aim.  They  returned  in  a  more  savage  mood  of  fury  than  be- 
fore. They  were  now  madmen.  The  appetite  for  blood,  pro- 
voked by  the  pursuit,  had  been  increased  by  the  delay.  Ben 
Williams,  the  man  who  was  slain,  was  a  favorite  among  the 
troop.  They  were  prepared  to  avenge  him,  and,  in  doing  this, 
to  carry  out  the  cruel  penalty  which  he  was  about  to  inflict  on 
the  prisoner  in  the  moment  when  he  was  shot  down.  Led  on 
by  one  of  the  party  by  whom  Clarence  had  been  originally 
made  prisoner,  they  rushed  upon  him. 

"Out  with  him  at  once!"  was  the  cry  of  the  infuriate 
wretches.  "  To  the  tree — to  the  tree  !" 

"  A  rope,  Muggs  !"  was  the  demand  of  one  among  them ;  and 
sharp  knives  flashed  about  the  eyes  of  the  young  partisan  in 
fearful  proximity. 

"  What  would  you  do,  boys  ?"  demanded  Muggs,  interposing. 
He  alone  knew  the  tie  which  existed  between  the  prisoner  and 
his  commander.  He  also  knew,  in  part  at  least,  the  objects  for 
which  the  latter  had  put  on  his  disguise. 

"  Let  the  prisoner  alone  to-night,  and  give  him  a  fair  trial  in 
the  morning." 

"  Who  talks  of  fair  trial  in  the  morning  1  Look  at  Ben  Wil- 
liams lying  at  your  foot.  You're  treading  in  his  blood,  and  you 
talking  of  fair  trial  to  his  murderer." 

"  But  this  man  ain't  his  murderer !" 

"  Same  thing — same  thing — wa'n't  it  on  his  account  that  he 
was  shot  ?  Away  with  him  to  the  tree.  Away  with  him  !" 

"Haul  him  along,  fellows  !     Here,  let  me  lay  hand  on  his  col- 


A  CRISIS.  101 

lar,"  cried  a  huge  dragoon  from  behind.    "  Give's  a  hold  on  him 
and  you'll  soon  see  him  out." 

hands  grappled  with  the  youth.     A  dozen  more  con- 

fded  that  they  might  do  so  likewise. 

Scoundrels,  give  me  but  room  and  I  will  follow  you,"  cried 
Clarence  with  a  scorn  as  lofty  as  he  would  have  shown  in  a  sta- 
tion of  the  utmost  security,  and  with  tones  as  firm  as  he  ever 
uttered  at  the  head  of  his  regiment. 

"  If  nothing  but  my  blood  can  satisfy  you  for  that  which  is 
shed,  take  it.  You  shall  not  see  me  shrink  from  any  violence 
which  your  ruffian  hands  may  inflict.  Know  that  I  despise  and 
defy  you  to  the  last." 

"  Gag  him — stop  his  mouth.  Shall  the  rebel  flout  us  on  our 
own  ground  ?" 

"  Bring  him  forward.  The  blood  of  Ben  Williams  cries  out 
to  us; — why  do  you  stand  with  open  mouths  there?  Shove 
him  ahead." 

Amid  such  cries  as  these,  coupled  with  the  most  shocking 
oaths  and  imprecations,  they  dragged  forward  the  youth  slowly, 
for  their  own  numbers  and  conflicting  violence  prevented  co- 
operation. They  dragged  him  on  until,  at  length,  he  stood  in 
the  blood,  and  just  above  the  body,  of  the  murdered  man.  He 
did  not  struggle,  but  he  shrunk  back  naturally,  with  some  hor- 
ror, when  he  felt  the  clammy  substance  sticking  to  his  feet.  He 
readily  conjectured  whence  it  came — from  what  sacred  sources 
of  human  life;  —  and,  though  a  fearless  soldier — one  who,  in 
the  heat  of  battle,  had  often  shed  the  blood  of  his  enemy — yet 
the  nature  within  him  recoiled  at  the  conviction  that  he  stood  in 
a  puddle,  which,  but  a  little  time  before,  had  beat  and  bounded, 
all  animation,  and  strength,  and  passion,  in  the  bosom  of  a  living 
man. 

His  shuddering  recoil  was  mistaken  by  the  crowd  for  resist- 
ance, and  one  ruffian,  more  brutal  than  the  rest,  renewing  his 
grasp  with  one  hand  upon  the  collar  of  the  youth,  with  the 
other  struck  him  in  the  face. 

The  blow,  that  last  indignity  and  violence  to  which  the  man 
submits,  roused  the  swelling  tides  in  the  bosom  of  the  youth  be-~ 
yond  their  wonted  bounds.  With  an  effort  which  seemed  rather 


102  THE  SCOUT. 

/ 

an  emotion  of  the  soul  than  a  physical  endeavor,  he  put  forth 
his  whole  strength,  and  the  cords  snapped  asunder  which  had 
confined  his  arms,  and  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning  he  retorted 
the  blow  with  such  sufficient  interest  as  prostrated  the  assailant 
at  his  feet. 

"  Now,  scoundrels,  if  you  must  have  blood,  use  your  knives — 
for  no  rope  shall  profane  my  neck  while  I  have  soul  to  defy  and 
power  to  resist  you.  Dogs,  bloodhounds  that  you  are,  I  scorn, 
I  spit  upon  you.  Bring  forth  your  best  man — your  chief,  if  you 
have  one  to  take  the  place  of  this  carcass  at  my  feet,  that  I  may 
revile,  and  defy,  and  spit  upon  him  also." 

A  moment's  pause  ensued.  The  noble  air  of  the  man  whom 
they  environed — the  prodigious  strength  which  he  had  shown 
in  snapping  asunder  the  strong  cords  which  had  secured  his 
limbs,  commanded  their  admiration.  Courage  and  strength  will 
always  produce  this  effect,  in  the  minds  of  savage  men.  They 
beheld  him  with  a  momentary  pause  of  wonder ;  but  shame,  to 
be  thus  baffled  by  a  "single  man,  lent  them  new  audacity.  They 
rushed  upon  him. 

Without  weapons  of  any  kind,  for  he  had  been  disarmed  when 
first  made  a  captive,  they  had  no  occasion  to  resort  to  that  degree 
of  violence  in  overcoming  him,  to  which  he  evidently  aimed  to 
provoke  them.  It  was  his  obvious  desire  to  goad  them  on  to 
the  use  of  weapons  which  would  take  life,  and  thus  effectually 
defeat  their  purpose  of  consigning  him  to  the  gallows; — that 
degrading  form  of  death  from  which  the  gentle  mind  shrinks  with 
a  revulsion  which  the  fear  of  the  sudden  stroke  or  the  swift  shot, 
could  never  occasion.  Hence  the  abusive  and  strong  language 
which  he  employed — language  otherwise  unfamiliar  to  his  lips. 

His  desire  might  still  have  been  gratified.  Several  of  the 
more  violent  among  the  young  men  of  the  party  were  rushing 
on  him  with  uplifted  hands,  in  which  the  glittering  blade  was 
flashing  and  conspicuous.  But  the  scornful  demand  of  Clarence, 
with  which  he  concluded  his  contumelious  speech,  brought  a  new 
party  into  the  field. 

This  was  no  other  than  his  kinsman.  He  had  been  a  looker- 
on  for  some  moments — not  long — for  the  whole  scene  took  far 
less  time  for  performance  than  it  now  takes  for  narration.  He 


A   CRISIS.  103 

had  watched  its  progress  with  new  and  rather  strange  emotions. 
At  one  moment,  the  selfish  desires  of  his  heart  grew  predomi- 
nant. He  thought  of  Flora  Middleton,  and  he  sank  back  and 
closed  his  eyes  upon  the  objects  around  him,  saying,  in  his  secret 
heart — 

"  Let  them  go  on — let  him  perish — why  should  I  preserve 
from  destruction  the  only  obstacle  to  my  desires  ?" 

At  the  next  moment,  a  better  spirit  prevailed  within  him.  He 
remembered  the  services  of  Clarence  to  himself. — He  owed  to 
him  his  life  ;  and,  but  now,  had  not  the  generous  youth  tendered 
him  for  his  extrication  and  sole  use  that  document,  which  he 
fancied  would  be  all-powerful  in  securing  his  own  safety.  The 
image  of  their  mutual  father  came,  also,  to  goad  the  unworthy 
son  to  a  sense  of  his  duty ;  and  when  he  heard  the  fierce,  proud 
accents  of  the  youth — when  he  heard  him  call  for  "  their  best 
man,  their  chief,  that  he  might  defy  and  spit  upon  him,"  he 
started  to  his  feet. 

There  was  but  a  moment  left  him  for  performance  if  his 
purpose  was  to  save.  The  knives  of  the  infuriate  mob  were 
already  flourishing  above  their  victim,  and  in  their  eyes  might 
be  seen  that  fanatical  expression  of  fury  which  is  almost  beyond 
human  power  to  arrest.  A  keen,  quick,  meaning  glance,  he 
gave  to  the  landlord,  Muggs ;  whose  eyes  had  all  the  while  been 
anxiously  watchful  of  his  leader.  At  the  sign  the  latter  made  his 
way  behind  him,  and,  unobserved,  with  a  single  stroke  of  his 
knife,  separated  the  cord  which  bound  his  arms.  In  another 
instant  his  voice  rose  superior  to  all  their  clamors. 

"  Hold,  on  your  lives !"  he  exclaimed,  leaping  in  among  the 
assailants.  "  Back,  instantly,  fellows,  or  you  will  make  an  en- 
emy of  me,!  Let  the  prisoner  alone  !" 

"  Gad,  I'm  so  glad !"  exclaimed  Muggs,  while  the  big  drops 
of  perspiration  poured  down  his  forehead.  "  I  thought,  cappin, 
you  couldn't  stand  by,  and  see  them  make  a  finish  of  it." 


104  THE   SCOUT. 


CHAPTER    X. 

SHADOWS   OF    COMING    EVENTS. 

"  HOLD,  comrades,  you  have  done  enough.  Leave  the  pris- 
oner to  me  !  Colonel  Conway,  you  demanded  to  look  upon  the 
chief  of  the  Black  Riders.  He  is  before  you.  He  answers,  at 
last,  to  your  defiance." 

And  with  these  words,  with  a  form  rising  into  dignity  and 
height,  in  becoming  correspondence,  as  it  were,  with  the  novel 
boldness  of  hi»^attitude,  Edward  Conway  stood  erect  and  con- 
fronted his  kinsman.  In  the  bosom  of  the  latter  a  thousand 
feelings  were  at  conflict.  Vexation  at  the  gross  imposition 
which  had  been  practised  upon  him — scorn  at  the  baseness  of 
the  various  forms  of  subterfuge  which  the  other  had  employed 
in  his  serpent-like  progress ;  but,  more  than  all,  the  keen  an- 
guish which  followed  a  discovery  so  humiliating,  in  the  bosom 
Of  one  so  sensible  to  the  purity  of  the  family  name  and  honor 
—  all  combined  to  confound  equally  his  feelings  and  his  judgment. 
But  his  reply  was  not  the  less  prompt  for  all  this. 

"And  him,  thus  known,  I  doubly  scorn,  defy  and  spit  upon !" 

He  had  not  time  for  more.  Other  passions  were  in  exercise 
beside  his  own ;  and  Edward  Conway  was  taught  to  know,  by 
what  ensued,  if  the  truth  were  unknown  to  him  before,  that  it 
is  always  a  far  less  difficult  task  to  provoke,  than  to  quiet,  frenzy 
— to  stimulate,  than  to  subdue,  the  ferocity  of  humaji  passions, 
when  at  the  flood.  A  fool  may  set  the  wisest  by  the  ears,  but 
it  is  not  the  wisest  always  who  can  restore  them  to  their  former 
condition  of  sanity  and  repose.  The  congratulations  of  Muggs, 
the  landlord,  which,  by  the  way,  spoke  something  in  his  behalf, 
promised  for  a  while  to  be  without  sufficient  reason. 

The  captain  of  the  Black  Riders  met  with  unexpected  resist- 
ance among  his  troop.  The  murdered  man  had  been  a  favorite, 
and  they  were  not  apt  to  be  scrupulous  about  avenging  the 


SHADOWS  OP  COMING  EVENTS.         105 

death  of  such  among  their  comrades  as  were.  Even  at  a  time 
when  a  moderate  degree  of  reason  prevailed  among  them,  it  was 
not  easy  to  subdue  them  to  placability  and  forbearance  in  regard 
to  a  prisoner ;  the  very  name  of  whom,  according  to  their  usual 
practice,  was  synonymous  with  victim.  How  much  less  so,  at 
this  juncture,  when,  with  their  blood  roused  to  tiger  rage,  they 
had  been  suffered  to  proceed  to  the  very  verge  of  indulgence, 
before  any  effort,  worthy  of  the  name,  on  the  part  of  an  acknowl- 
edged superior,  had  been  made  to  arrest  them  ! 

Edward  Morton  felt  his  error,  in  delaying  his  interposition  so 
long.  If  his  purpose  had  been  to  save,  his  effort  should  have 
been  sooner  made,  and  then  it  might  have  been  effected  with- 
out the  more  serious  risk  which  now  threatened  himself,  in  the 
probable  diminution  of  his  authority.  He  estimated  his  power 
too  highly,  and  flattered  himself  that  he  could  afr'any  moment  in- 
terpose with  effect.  He  made  no  allowance  for  that  momentum  of 
bloodjr which,  in  the  man  aroused  by  passion  and  goaded  to  fury, 
resists  even  the  desires  of  the  mind  accustomed  to  control  it ; 
even  as  the  wild  beast,  after  he  has  lashed  himself  into  rage, 
forgets  the  keeper  by  whom  he  is  fed  and  disciplined,  and  rends 
him  with  the  rest. 

Edward  Morton  stood  erect  and  frowning  among  those  whom 
he  was  accustomed  to  command  —  and  their  obedience  was  with- 
held !  His  orders  were  received  with  murmurs  by  some — with 
sullenness  by  all.  They  still  maintained  their  position — their 
hands  and  weapons  uplifted — their  eyes  glaring  with  savage 
determination; — now  fixed  on  their  threatened  victim,  and  now 
on  their  commander ;  and  without  much  difference  in  their  ex- 
pression when  surveying  either. 

"  Do  ye  murmur — are  ye  mutinous  1  Ha!  will  ye  have  me 
strike,  men,  that  ye  fall  not  back  ?  Is  it  you,  Barton,  and  you, 
Fisher. — You,  of  all,  that  stand  up  in  resistance  to  my  will ! 
Ensign  Darcy,  it  will  best  become  you  to  give  me  your  prompt 
obedience.  I  have  not  forgotten  your  connection  with  Lieuten- 
ant Stockton.  Fall  back,  sir — do  not  provoke  me  to  anger: 
do  not  any  of  you  provoke  me  too  far !" 

The  man  addressed  as  Barton — a  huge  fellow  who  made 
himself  conspicuous  by  his  clamors  from  the  first — replied  in 


106  THE  SCOUT. 

a  style  which  revealed  to  Morton  the  full  difficulties  of  his 
position. 

"  Look  you,  Captain  Morton,  I'm  one  that  is  always  for  obe- 
dience when  the  thing's  reasonable ;  but  here's  a  case  where 
it's  onreasonable  quite.  We  ain't  used  to  see  one  of  us  shot 
down  without  so  much  as  drawing  blood  for  it.  Ben  Williams 
was  my  friend ;  and,  for  that  matter,  he  was  a  friend  with  every 
fellow  of  the  troop.  I,  for  one,  can't  stand  looking  at  his  blood, 
right  afore  me,  and  see  his  enemy  standing  t'other  side,  without 
so  much  as  a  scratch.  As  for  the  obedience,  Captain,  why  there's 
time  enough  for  that  when  we've  done  hanging  the  rebel." 

"  It  must  be  now,  Mr.  Barton.  Muggs,  that  pistol !  Stand 
by  me  with  your  weapon.  Men,  I  make  you  orte  appeal !  I 
am  your  captain !  All  who  are  still  willing  that  I  should  be  so, 
will  follow  Muggs.  Muggs — behind  me.  March !  By  the 
God  of  Heaven,  Mr.  Barton,  this  moment  tries  our  strength. 
You  or  I  must  yield.  There  is  but  a  straw  between  us.  .There 
is  but  a  moment  of  time  for  either  !  Lower  your  weapon,  sir, 
or  one  of  us,  in  another  instant,  lies  with  Ben  Williams." 

The  huge  horseman's  .pistol  which  Muggs  handed  to  his 
leader  at  his  requisition,  had  been  already  cocked  by  the  land- 
lord. It  was  lifted  while  Morton  was  speaking — deliberately 
lifted — and  the  broad  muzzle  was  made  to  rest  full  against  the 
face  of  the  refractory  subordinate.  The  instant  was  full  of 
doubt  and  peril,  and  Clarence  Conway  forgot  for  the  time  his 
own  danger  in  the  contemplation  of  the  issue. 

But  the  courage  of  ~the  moral  man  prevailed  over  the  instinct 
of  blood.  Edward  Morton  saw  that  he  was  about  to  triumph. 
The  eye  of  the  fierce  mutineer  sunk  beneath  his  own,  though 
its  angry  fires  were  by  no  means  quenched.  It  still  gleamed 
with  defiance  and  rage,  but  no  longer  with  resolution.  The 
fellow  looked  round  upon  his  comrades.  They  had  shrunk  back 
— they  were  no  longer  at  his  side ;  and  no  small  number  had 
followed  the  landlord  and  were  now  ranged  on  the  side  of  their 
captain.  Of  those  who  had  not  taken  this  decided  movement, 
he  saw  the  irresoluteness,  and  his  own  purpose  was  necessarily 
strengthened.  It  is  this  dependence  upon  sympathy  and  associa- 
tion which  constitutes  one  of  the  essential  differences  between  the 


SHADOWS  OP  COMING  EVENTS.          107 

vulgar  and  the  educated  mind.  Brutal  and  bold  as  lie  was.  Bar- 
ton was  not  willing  to  left  alone.  The  chief  of  the  Black  Riders 
saw  that  the  trial  was  fairly  over — the  strife  had  passed.  The 
evil  spirit  was  laid  for  the  present,  and  there  was  no  longer  any- 
thing to  fear. 

"Enough!"  he  exclaimed,  lowering  his  weapon,  and  acting 
with  a  better  policy  than  had  altogether  governed  his  previous 
movements. 

"  Enough  !  You  know  me,  Barton,  and  I  think  I  know  you. 
You  are  a  good  fellow  at  certain  seasons,  but  you  have  your 
blasts  and  your  hurricanes,  and  do  not  always  know  when  to 
leave  off  the  uproar.  You  will  grow  wiser,  I  trust ;  but,  mean- 
while, you  must  make  some  effort  to  keep  your  passions  in  order. 
This  rough  treatment  of  your  friends,  as  if  they  were  foes,  won't 
answer.  Beware.  You  have  your  warning." 

"Yes,"  growled  the  ruffian,  doggedly,  still  unwilling  alto- 
gether to  submit ;  "  but  when  our  friends  stand  up  for  our  foes, 
and  take  sides  against  us,  I  think  its  reasonable  enough  to  think 
there's  not  much  difference  between  'em,  as  you  say.  I'm  done, 
but  I  think  it's  mighty  hard  now-a-days  that  we  can't  hang  a 
rebel  and  a  spy,  without  being  in  danger  of  swallowing  a  bullet 
ourselves.  And  then,  too,  poor  Ben  Williams !  Is  he  to  lie 
there  in  his  blood,  and  nothing  to  be  done  to  his  enemy  ? 

"  I  say  not  that,  Mr.  Barton.  The  prisoner  shall  have  a  trial ; 
and  if  you  find  him  guilty  of  connection  with  the  man  who  shot 
Williams,  you  may  then  do  as  you  please.  I  have  no  disposition 
to  deprive  you  of  your  victim ;  but  know  from  me,  that,  while  I 
command  you,  you  shall  obey  me — ay,  without  asking  the  why 
and  wherefore  !  I  should  be  a  sorry  captain — nay,  you  would 
be  a  sorry  troop — if  I  suffered  your  insubordination  for  an  in- 
stant. Away,  now,  and  make  the  circuit — all  of  you  but 
Shumway  and  Irby.  See  to  your  powder,  that  it  be  kept  dry ; 
and  let  your  horses  be  in  readiness  for  a  start  at  dawn.  This 
country  is  to  hot  for  you  already  ;  and  with  such  management 
as  you  have  had  in  my  absence,  it  would  become  seven  times 
hotter.  Away." 

They  disappeared,  all  but  the  two  who  were  excepted  by 
name.  To  these  he  delivered  the  prisoner. 


108  THE  SCOUT. 

• 

"  Shumway,  do  you  and  Irby  take  charge  of  the  rebel. 
Lodge  him  in  the  block,  and  let  him  be  safely  kept  till  I  relieve 
you.  Your  lives  shall  answer  for  his  safety.  Spare  none  who 
seek  to  thwart  you.  Were  he  the  best  man  in  the  troop,  who 
approached  you  suspiciously,  shoot  him  down  like  a  dog." 

In  silence  the  two  led  Clarence  Conway  out  of  the  house. 
He  followed  them  in  equal  silence.  He  looked  once  toward  his 
kinsman,  but  Edward  Morton  was  not  yet  prepared  to  meet  his 
glance.  His  head  was  averted,  as  the  former  was  followed  by 
his  guards  to  the  entrance.  Clarence  was  conducted  to  an  out- 
house—  a  simple  but  close  block-house,  of  squared  logs — small, 
and  of  little  use  as  a  prison,  except  as  it  was  secluded  from  the 
highway.  Its  value,  as  a  place  of  safekeeping,  consisted  sim- 
ply in  its  obscurity.  Into  this  he  was  thrust  headlong,  and  the 
door  fastened  from  without  upon  him.  There  let  us  leave  him 
for  a  while,  to  meditate  upon  the  strange  and  sorrowful  scene 
which  he  had  witnessed,  and  of  which  he  had  been  a  part. 

His  reflections  were  not  of  a  nature  to  permit  him  to  pay 
much  attention  to  the  accommodations  which  were  afforded  him. 
He  found  himself  in  utter  darkness,  and  the  inability  to  employ 
his  eyes  led  necessarily  to  the  greater  exercise  of  his  thoughts. 
He  threw  himself  upon  the  floor  of  his  dungeon,  which  was 
covered  with  pine-straw,  and  brooded  over  the  prospects  of  that 
life  which  had  just  passed  through  an  ordeal  so  narrow.  Let  us 
now  return  to  his  kinsman. 

Edward  Morton  had  now  resumed  all  the  duties  of  his  station 
as  chief  of  the  Black  Riders.  In  this  capacity,  and  just  at  this 
this  time,  his  tasks,  as  the  reader  will  readily  imagine,  were 
neither  few  in  number  nor  easy  of  performance.  It  required  no 
small  amount  of  firmness,  forethought,  and  adroitness,  to  keep 
in  subjection,  and  govern  to  advantage,  such  unruly  spirits. 
But  the  skill  of  their  captain  was  not  inconsiderable,  and  such 
were  the  very  spirits  whom  he  could  most  successfully  command. 
The  coarser  desires  of  the  mind,  and  the  wilder  passions  of  the 
man,  he  could  better  comprehend  than  any  other.  With  these 
he  was  at  home.  But  with  these  his  capacity  was  at  an  end. 
Beyond  these,  and  with  finer  spirits,  he  was  usually  at  fault. 

To  be  the  successful  leader  of  ruffians  is  perhaps  a  small 


SHADOWS  OF  COMING  EVENTS.          109 

merit.  It  requires  cunning,  rather  than  wisdom,  to  be  able 
simply  to  discover  the  passion  which  it  seeks  to  use ;  and  this 
was  the  chief  secret  of  Edward  Morton.  He  knew  how  to 
make  hate,  and  jealousy,  and  lust,  and  fear,  subservient  to  his 
purposes,  already  roused  into  action.  It  is  doubtful,  even, 
whether  he  possessed  the  cold-blooded  talent  of  lago,  to  awaken 
them  from  their  slumbers,  breathe  into  them  the  breath  of  life, 
and  send  them  forward,  commissioned  like  so  many  furies,  for 
the  destruction  of  their  wretched  victim.  A  sample  has  been 
given  already  of  the  sort  of  trial  which  awaited  him  in  the 
control  of  his  comrades. 

But  there  were  other  difficulties  which  tasked  his  powers  to 
the  utmost.  The  difficulties  which  environed  the  whole  British 
army  were  such  as  necessarily  troubled,  in  a  far  greater  degree, 
its  subordinate  commands.  The  duties  of  these  were  more 
constant,  more  arduous,  and  liable  to  more  various  risk  and 
exposure.  The  unwonted  successes  of  the  American  arms  had 
awakened  all  the  slumbering  patriotism  of  the  people ;  while 
the  excesses  of  which  such  parties  as  that  which  Morton  com- 
manded had  been  guilty,  in  the  hey-day  of  their  reckless 
career,  had  roused  passions  in  the  bosom  of  their  foes,  which, 
if  better  justified,  were  equally  violent,  and  far  less  likely,  once 
awakened,  to  relapse  into  slumber.  Revenge  was  busy  with  all 
her  train  in  search  of  Morton  himself,  and  the  gloomily-capari- 
soned troop  which  he  led.  It  was  her  array  from  which  he  so 
narrowly  escaped  when  he  received  the  timely  succor  of  his 
kinsman  in  the  swamp.  A  hundred  small  bodies  like  his  own 
had  suddenly  started  into  existence  and  activity  around  him, 
some  of  which  had  almost  specially  devoted  themselves  to  the 
destruction  of  his  troop.  The  wrongs  of  lust,  and  murder,  and 
spoliation,  were  about  to  be  redressed ;  and  by  night,  as  by  day, 
was  he  required  to  keep  his  troop  in  motion,  if  for  no  other 
object  than  his  own  safety ;  though,  by  this  necessity,  he  was 
compelled  to  traverse  a  country  which  had  been  devastated  by 
the  wanton  hands  of  those  whom  he  commanded.  On  the  same 
track,  and  because  of  the  same  provocation,  were  scattered  hun- 
dreds of  enemies,  as  active  in  pursuit  and  search  as  he  was  in 
evasion.  He  well  knew  the  fate  which  awaited  him  if  caught, 


110  THE  SCOUT. 

and  involuntarily  shuddered  as  he  thought  of  it :  death  in  its 
most  painful  form  ;  torture  fashioned  by  the  most  capricious  exer- 
cise of  ingenuity ;  scorn,  ignominy,  and  contumely,  the  most  bit- 
ter and  degrading,  which  stops  not  even  at  the  gallows,  and,  as 
far  as  it  may,  stamps  the  sign  of  infamy  upon  the  grave. 

These  were,  in  part,  the  subject  of  the  gloomy  meditations  of 
the  outlawed  chief  when  left  alone  in  the  wigwam  of  Muggs,  the 
landlord.  True,  he  was  not  without  his  resources — his  disguises 
— his  genius  !  He  had  been  so  far  wonderfully  favored  by  for- 
tune, and  his  hope  was  an  active,  inherent  principle  in  his  organi- 
zation. But  the  resources  of  genius  avail  not  always,  and  even 
the  sanguine  temperament  of  Edward  Morton  was  disposed  to 
reserve,  while  listening  to  the  promises  of  fortune.  He  knew 
the  characteristic  caprices  in  which  she  was  accustomed  to  in- 
dulge. He  was  no  blind  believer  in  her  books.  He  was  too 
selfish  a  man  to  trust  her  implicitly ;  though,  hitherto,  she  had 
fulfilled  every  promise  that  she  had  ever  made. 

The  signs  of  a  change  were  now  becoming  visible  to  his 
senses.  He  had  his  doubts  and  misgivings ;  he  was  not  without 
audacity — he  could  dare  with  the  boldest;  but  his  daring  had 
usually  been  shown  at  periods,  when  to  dare  was  to  be  cautious. 
He  meditated,  even  now,  to  distrust  the  smiles  of  fortune  in  sea- 
son—  to  leave  the  field  of  adventure  while  it  was  still  possible 
and  safe  to  do  so. 

His  meditations  were  interrupted  at  this  moment,  and,  per- 
haps, assisted,  by  no'  less  a  person  than  Muggs,  the  landlord. 
He  made  his  appearance,  after  a  brief  visit  to  an  inner  shanty 
—  a  place  of  peculiar  privity — the  sanctum  sanctorum — in 
which  the  landlord  wisely  put  away  from  sight  such  stores  as 
he  wished  to  preserve  from  that  maelstrom,  the  common  maw. 
The  landlord  was  one  of  the  few  who  knew  the  secret  history 
of  the  two  Conways ;  and,  though  he  knew  not  all,  he  knew 
enough  to  form  a  tolerably  just  idea  of  the  feelings  with  which 
the  elder  regarded  the  younger  kinsman.  He  could  form  a  no- 
tion, also,  of  the  sentiments  by  which  they  were  requited.  In 
Muggs,  Edward  Morton  had  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  a  sure 
friend — one  before  whom  he  might  safely  venture  to  unbosom 
some  of  his  reserves.  Still,  he  was  especially  careful  to  show 


SHADOWS  OF  COMING  EVENTS.          Ill 

not  all,  nor  the  most  important — none,  in  fact,  the  revelation  of 
which  could  possibly  be  productive  of  any  very  serious  injury  or 
inconvenience.  He,  perhaps,  did  little  more  than  stimulate  the 
communicative  disposition  of  "  mine  host,"  who,  like  most  per- 
sons of  his  craft,  was  garrulous  by  profession,  and  fancied  that 
he  never  ministered  perfectly  to  the  palates  of  his  guests,  unless 
when  he  accompanied  the  service  by  a  free  exercise  of  his  own 
tongue. 

"  Well,  cappin,  the  game  of  fox  and  goose  is  finished  now,  I 
reckon.  There's  no  chance  to  play  possum  with  your  brother 
any  longer.  It's  lion  and  tiger  now,  if  anything." 

"I  suppose  so,"  replied  the  other,  with  something  of  a  sigh. 
The  landlord  continued  :  — 

"The  question  now,  I  reckon — now,  that  you've  got  him  in 
your  clutches — is  what  you're  to  do  with  him.  To  my  think- 
ing, it's  jest  the  sort  of  question  that  bothered  the  man  when  he 
shook  hands  with  the  black  bear  round  the  tree.  It  was  a  starve 
to  hold  on  and  a  squeeze  to  let  go,  and  danger  to  the  mortal  ribs 
whichever  way  he  took  it." 

"  You  have  described  the  difficulty,  Muggs,"  said  the  other, 
musingly — "  what  to  do  with  him  is  the  question." 

"  There's  no  keeping  him  here,  that's  cPar." 

"  No.     That's  impossible  !" 

"  His  friends,  I  reckon,  are  nigh  enough  to  get  him  out  of  the 
logbox,  and  it's  cl'ar  they  know  where  to  find  him.  That  shot 
that  tumbled  poor  Williams  was  mighty  nigh  and  mighty  sud- 
den, and  was  sent  by  a  bold  fellow.  I'm  onsatisfied  but  there 
was  more  than  one." 

"No — but  one,"  said  Morton — "but  one!" 

"  Well,  cappin,  how  do  you  count  ?  There  wa'n't  no  track  to 
show  a  body  where  to  look  for  him.  The  wash  made  the  airth 
smooth  again  in  five  shakes  after  the  foot  left  the  print." 

"  It's  guesswork  with  me  only,  Muggs." 

"And  who  do  you  guess  'twas,  cappin?" 

"Supplejack!" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  you're  on  the  right  trail.  It's  reasonable 
enough.  I  didn't  once  think  of  him.  But  it's  cl'ar  enough  to 
everybody  that  knows  the  man,  that  Supple  Jack's  jist  the  lad 


I. 

112  THE   SCOUT. 

to  take  any  risk  for  a  person  lie  loves  so  well.  But,  you  don't 
think  he  come  alone  ?  I'm  dub'ous  the  whole  troop  ain't  mighty 
fur  off." 

"  But  him,  Muggs  !  He  probably  came  alone.  We  left  him, 
only  an  hour  before  I  came,  on  the  edge  of  the  Wateree — a  few 
miles  above  this.  He  and  Clarence  gave  me  shelter  in  the 
swamp  when  I  was  chased  by  Butler's  men,  and  when  that 
skulking  scoundrel,  Stockton,  left  me  to  perish.  Clarence  rode 
on  with  me,  and  left  Supple  Jack  to  return  to  the  swamp,  where 
they  have  a  first  rate  hiding-place.  I  suspect  he  did  not  return, 
but  followed  us.  But  of  this  we  may  speak  hereafter.  The 
question  is,  what  to  do  with  the  prisoner — this  bear  whom  I 
have  by  the  paws,  and  whom  it  is  equally  dangerous  to  keep 
and  to  let  go." 

"  Well,  that's  what  I  call  a  tight  truth ;  but  it's  a  sort  of  sat- 
isfaction, cappin,  that  you've  still  got  the  tree  a-tween  you  ;  and 
so  you  may  stop  a  while  to  consider.  Now  I  ain't  altogether 
the  person  to  say  what's  what,  and  how  it's  to  be  done  ;  but  if 
so  be  I  can  say  anything  to  make  your  mind  easy,  cappin,  you 
know  I'm  ready." 

"  Do  so,  Muggs :  let  me  hear  you,"  was  the  reply  of  the  out- 
law, with  the  musing  manner  of  one  who  listens  with  his  ears 
only,  and  is  content  to  hear  everything,  if  not  challenged  to  find 
an  answer. 

"  Well,  cappin,  I'm  thinking  jest  now  we're  besot  all  round 
with  troubles ;  and  there's  no  telling  which  is  biggest,  closest, 
and  ugliest — they're  all  big,  and  close,  and  ugly.  As  for  hiding 
Clarence  Coriway  here,  now,  or  for  a  day  more,  that's  onpossi- 
ble.  It's  cl'ar  he's  got  his  friends  on  the  track,  one,  mout  be,  a 
hundred ;  and  they  can  soon  muster  enough  to  work  him  out  of 
the  timbers,  if  it's  only  by  gnawing  through  with  their  teeth. 
Well,  how  are  you  to  do  then  ?  Send  him  under  guard  to  Cam- 
den  1  Why,  it's  a  chance  if  all  your  troop  can  carry  themselves 
there,  without  losing  their  best  buttons  by  the  way.  It's  a  long 
road,  and  the  rebels  watch  it  as  close  as  hawks  do  the  farmyard 
in  chicken  season.  That,  now,  is  about  the  worst  sign  for  the 
king's  side  that  I've  seed  for  a  long  spell  of  summers.  It  shows 
pretty  cl'ar  that  we  ain't  so  strong  as  we  was  a-thinking.  The 


I 

^          SHADOWS  OF  COMING  EVENTS.          113 

wonder  is,  where  these  troopers  come  from  ;  and  the  worst  won- 
der is,  where  they  get  their  boldness.  Once  on  a  time,  when 
Tarleton  first  begun  to  ride  among  us,  it  was  more  like  a  driving 
of  deer  than  a  fighting  of  men ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  reb- 
els have  got  to  be  the  drivers,  and  o'  late  days  they  scamper  us 
mightily.  I  see  these  things  better  than  you,  cappin,  and,  per- 
haps, better  than  the  rebels  themselves ;  for  I  ain't  in  the  thick. 
I'm  jest  like  one  that's  a-standing  on  a  high  hill  and  looking 
down  at  the  fighting  when  it's  a-going  on  below.  I  tell  you, 
cappin,  the  game's  going  agin  the  king's  people.  They're 
a-losing  ground — these  men's  getting  fewer  and  fewer  every 
day,  and  jest  so  fast  do  I  hear  of  a  new  gathering  among  the 
whigs.  I  tell  you  agin,  cappin,  you're  besot  with  troubles." 

"  I  know  it,  Muggs.  Your  account  of  the  case  is  an  accurate 
one.  We  are  in  a  bad  way." 

"  By  jingo,  you  may  say  so,  cappin.  You  are,  as  I  may  say 
in  a  mighty  bad  way — a  sort  of  conflusteration,  that  it  puzzles 
my  old  head  more  than  I  can  tell  rightly,  to  onbefluster.  Then, 
as  for  the  prisoner — " 

"Ay,  that,  Muggs.  Speak  to  that.  What  of  him? — let  me 
hear  your  advice  about  the  prisoner.  How  is  he  to  be  disposed 
off?" 

"  Well  now,  cappin — there's  a-many  ways  for  doing  that,  but 
which  is  the  right  and  proper  one — and  when  it's  done,  will  it 
sarve  the  purpose?  I'm  afeard  not — I'm  not  knowing  to  any 
way  how  to  fix  it  so  as  to  please  you.  It's  pretty  sartain  he's 
your  enemy  in  war  and  your  enemy  in  peace ;  and  if  all  things 
that's  said  be  true,  about  him  and  Miss  Flora,  it  don't  seem  to 
me  that  you'd  ha'  been  any  worse  off — if  so  be  your  father  had 
never  given  you  this  brother  for  a  companion." 

The  outlaw  chief  looked  up  for  the  first  time  during  the  in- 
terview, and  his  eye,  full  of  significance,  encountered  that  of  the 
landlord. 

"Ay,  Muggs,  the  gift  was  a  fatal  one  to  me.  Better  for  me 
— far  better — had  he  never  seen  the  light  •  or,  seeing  it,  that 
some  friendly  foe  had  closed  it  from  his  eyes,  while  he — while 
we  were  both — in  a  state  of  innocence." 

"  Gad,  captain,  I  was  thinking  at  one  time  to-night  that  black 


i 

114  THE  SCOUT. 

Barton  would  have  done  you  a  service  like  that ;  and  I  was 
a-thinking  jest  then,  that  you  wa'n't  unwilling.  You  kept  so 
long  quiet,  that  I  was  afeard  you'd  have  forgotten  the  blood- 
kin,  and  let  the  boys  had  the  game  their  own  way." 

"  You  were  afraid  of  it,  were  you  ?"  said  Morton,  his  brow 
darkening  as  he  spoke. 

"  Ay,  that  I  was,  mightly.  When  I  thought  of  the  tempta- 
tions, you  know;  —  Miss  Flora  and  her  property — and  then  the 
fine  estates  he  got  by  his  mother's  side  and  all  that  was  like  to 
fall  to  you,  if  once  he  was  out  of  the  way — I  begun  to  trimble 
—  for  I  thought  you  couldn't  stand  the  temptation.  '  He's  only 
to  keep  quiet  now  and  say  nothing,  and  see  what  he'll  get  for 
only  looking  on.'  That  was  the  thought  that  troubled  me.  I 
was  afeard,  as  I  tell  you,  that  you'd  forget  blood-kin,  and  every- 
thing, when  you  come  to  consider  the  temptations." 

The  outlaw  rose  and  strode  the  floor  impatiently. 

"  No,  no,  Muggs  ;  you  had  little  cause  to  fear.  He  had  just 
saved  my  life — sheltered  me  from  my  enemies — nay,  would 
have  yielded  me  his  own  commission  as  a  protection,  which  he 
supposed  would  be  effectual  for  his  own  or  my  safety.  No,  no  ! 
I  could  not  suffer  it.  Yet,  as  you  say,  great,  indeed,  would  have 
been  the  gain — great  was  the  temptation." 

"  Time,  cappin,  but  what's  the  gain  that  a  man  gits  by  bloody- 
ing his  hands  agin  natur'  ?  Now,  it's  not  onreasonable  or  on- 
natural,  when  you  have  tumbled  an  open  enemy  in  a  fail- 
scratch,  to  see  after  his  consarns,  and  empty  his  fob  and  pockets. 
But  I  don't  think  any  good  could  come  with  the  gain  that's 
spotted  with  the  blood  of  one's  own  brother — " 

"  He's  but  a  half-brother,  Muggs,"  said  Morton,  hastily.  "  Dif- 
ferent mothers,  you  recollect." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  that  there's  a  much  difference,  cappin. 
He's  a  full  brother  by  your  father's  side." 

.  "Yes,  yes  ! — but  Muggs,  had  he  been  slain  by  Barton  and 
the  rest,  the  deed  would  have  been  none  of  mine.  It  was  a 
chance  of  war,  and  he's  a  soldier." 

"  Well,  cappin,  I'm  not  so  certain  about  that.  There's  a  dif- 
ference I  know,  but — " 

"  It  matters  not !     He  lives  ?     He  is  spared,  Muggs — spared, 


SHADOWS  OP  COMING  EVENTS.          115 

perhaps,  for  the  destruction  of  his  preserver.  T  have  saved  his 
life ;  but  he  knows  my  secret.  That  secret ! — That  fatal  secret ! 
Would  to  God!—" 

He  broke  off  the  exclamation  abruptly,  while  he  struck  his 
head  with  his  open  palm. 

"  My  brain  is  sadly  addled,  Muggs.  Give  me  something— 
something  which  will  settle  it  and  compose  my  nerves.  You  are 
happy,  old  fellow — you  are  happy,  and — safe  !  The  rebels 
have  forgiven  you — have  they  not?" 

"  Well,  we  have  forgiven  each  other,  cappin,  and  I  have 
found  them  better  fellows  nigh,  than  they  war  at  a  distance ;" 
replied  the  landlord,  while  he  concocted  for  the  outlaw  a  strong 
draught  of  punch,  the  favorite  beverage  of  the  time  and  coun- 
try. 

"  If  I  ain't  happy,  cappin,  it's  nobody's  fault  but  my  own.  I 
only  wish  you  were  as  safe,  with  all  your  gettings,  as  I  think 
myself  with  mine  ;  and  you  mought  be,  cappin  ; — you  mought." 

A  look  of  much  significance  concluded  the  sentence. 

"How — what  would  you  say,  Muggs?"  demanded  the  out- 
law, with  some  increase  of  anxiety  in  his  manner. 

The  reply  of  the  landlord  was  whispered  in  his  ears. 

"Would  to  heaven  I  could! — but  how? — How,  Muggs,  is 
this  to  be  done  ?" 

The  answer  was  again  whispered. 

"  No,  no  !"  replied  the  other,  with  a  heavy  shake  of  the  head. 
"  I  would  not,  and  I  dare  not.  They  have  stood  by  me  without 
fear  or  faithlessness,  and  I  will  not  now  desert  them.  But 
enough  of  this  for  the  present.  Get  me  your  lantern,  while  I 
seek  this  brother  of  mine  in  private.  There  must  be  some  more 
last  words  between  us." 


116  THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   TRUE   ISSUE. 

PRECEDED  by  the  landlord  Muggs,  who  carried  a  dark  lantern, 
Morton  took  his  way  to  the  secluded  block-house  in  which  his 
kinsman  was  a  prisoner.  The  only  entrance  to  this  rude  fabric 
was  closely  watched  by  the  two  persons  to  whom  Clarence  was 
given  in  charge.  These  found  shelter  beneath  a  couple  of 
gigantic  oaks  which  stood  a  little  distance  apart  from  one  an- 
other, yet  sufficiently  nigh  to  the  block-house  to  enable  the 
persons  in  their  shadow,  while  themselves  perfectly  concealed, 
to  note  the  approach  of  any  intruder.  Dismissing  them  to  the 
tavern,  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders  assigned  to  Muggs  the 
duty  of  the  watch,  and  having  given  him  all  necessary  instruc- 
tions, he  entered  the  prison,  the  door  of  which  was  carefully 
fastened  behind  him  by  the  obedient  Idndlord. 

The  lantern  which  he  bore,  and  which  he  set  down  in  one 
corner  of  the  apartment,  enabled  Clarence  to  distinguish  his 
brother  at  a  glance  ;  but  the  youth  neither  stirred  nor  spoke  as 
he  beheld  him.  His  mind,  in  the  brief  interval  which  had 
elapsed  after  their  violent  separation  in  the  tavern,  had  been 
busily  engaged  in  arriving  at  that  stage  of  stem  resignation, 
which  left  him  comparatively  indifferent  to  any  evils  which 
might  then  occur.  Unable  to  form  any  judgment  upon  the 
course  of  his  brother's  future  conduct,  he  was  not  prepared  to 
say  how  far  he  might  be  willing  to  go  —  and  how  soon — in  per- 
mitting to  his  sanguinary  troop  the  indulgence  of  their  bloody 
will.  Wisely,  then,  he  had  steeled  his  mind  against  the  worst, 
resolved,  if  he  had  suffer  death  in  an  obscurity  so  little  desired 
by  the  youthful  and  ambitious  heart,  to  meet  its  bitter  edge  with 
as  calm  a  countenance  as  he  should  like  to  display,  under  a 
similar  trial,  in  the  presence  of  a  thousand  spectators. 

Edward  Morton  had  evidently  made  great  efforts  to  work  his 


THE   TRUE   ISSUE.  117 

mind  up  to  a  similar  feeling  of  stern  indifference ;  but  he  had 
not  been  so  successful,  although,  at  the  moment,  untroubled  by 
any  of  those  apprehensions  which  were  sufficiently  natural  to 
the  situation  of  his  brother.  His  face  might  have  been  seen  to 
vary  in  color  and  expression  as  his  eye  turned  upon  the  spot 
where  Clarence  was  sitting.  The  moral  strength  was  wanting 
in  his  case  which  sustained  the  latter.  The  consciousness  of 
guilt  enfeebled,  in  some  degree,  a  spirit,  whose  intense  selfish- 
ness alone — were  he  unpossessed  of  any  other  more  decisive 
characteristics — must  have  been  the  source  of  no  small  amount 
of  firmness  and  courage.  As  if  ashamed,  however,  of  his  feeble- 
ness, and  determined  to  brave  the  virtue  which  he  still  felt  him- 
self compelled  to  respect,  he  opened  the  conference  by  a  remark, 
the  tone  and  tenor  of  which  were  intended  to  seem  exulting  and 
triumphant. 

"  So,  Colonel  Conway,  you  find  your  wisdom  has  been  at 
fault.  You  little  fancied  that  you  were  half  so  intimate  with 
that  fierce  bandit — that  renowned  chieftain — -of  whom  report 
speaks  so  loudly.  It  does  not  need  that  I  should  introduce  you 
formally  to  the  captain  of  the  Black  Riders  of  Congaree." 

The  youth  looked  up,  and  fixed  his  eye  steadily  on  that  of  the 
speaker.  Severe,  indeed,  but  full  of  a  manly  sorrow*  was  the 
expression  of  that  glance. 

"  Edward  Conway,"  he  replied,  after  a  brief  delay,  "  you  do 
not  deceive  me  by  that  tone — nay,  you  do  not  deceive  yourself. 
Your  heart,  instead  of'  exultation,  feels  at  this  moment  nothing 
but  shame.  Your  eye  gazes  not  steadily  on  mine.  Your  spirit 
is  not  that  of  a  fearless  man.  You  shrink,  Edward  Conway,  in 
spite  of  your  assumed  boldness,  with  all  the  cowardice  of  a 
guilty  soul." 

"  Cowardice  ! — do  you  charge  me  with  cowardice  ?" 

"  Ay,  what  else  than  cowardice  has  made  you  descend  to  the* 
subterfuge  and  the  trick — to  the  base  disguise  and  the  baser 
falsehood  ?  These,  too,  to  your  brother,  even  at  the  moment 
when  he  was  risking  his  own  life  to  rescue  that  which  you  have 
dishonored  for  ever." 

"  I  will  prove  to  you,  in  due  season,  that  I  am  no  coward, 
Clarence  Conway,"  replied  the  other,  in  hoarse  and  nearly  un- 


118  THE  SCOUT.        v 

distinguishable  accents ;  "  you,  at  least,  are  seeking  to  convince 
me  that  you  are  none,  in  thus  bearding  the  lion  in  his  den." 

"  The  lion !  Shame  not  that  noble  beast  by  any  such  com- 
parison. The  fox  will  better  suit  your  purpose  and  perform- 
ance." 

With  a  strong  effort  the  outlaw  kept  down  his  temper,  while 
he  replied — 

"  I  will  npt  suffer  you  to  provoke  me,  Clarence  Conway.  I 
have  sought  you  for  a  single  object,  and  that  I  will  perform. 
After  that — that  over — and  the  provocation  shall  be  met  and 
welcomed.  Now  ! " 

The  other  fiercely  interrupted  him,  as  he  exclaimed — 

"  Now  be  it,  if  you  will !  Free  my  hands — cut  asunder  these 
degrading  bonds  which  you  have  fixed  upon  the  arms  whose  last 
offices  were  employed  in  freeing  yours,  and  in  your  defence — 
and  here,  in  this  dungeon,  breast  to  breast,  let  us  carry  out  that 
strife  to  its  fit  completion,  which  your  evil  passion,  your  cupidity 
or  hate,  have  so  dishonestly  begun.  I  know  not,  Edward  Con- 
way,  what  perversity  of  heart  has  brought  you  to  this  wretched 
condition — to  the  desertion  of  your  friends — your  country — 
the  just  standards  of  humanity — the  noble  exactions  of  truth. 
You  have  allied  yourself  to  the  worst  of  ruffians,  in  the  worst  of 
practices,  without  even  the  apology  of  that  worst  of  causes  which 
the  ordinary  tory  pleads  in  his  defence.  You  can  not  say  that 
your  loyalty  to  the  king  prompts  you  to  the  side  you  have 
taken,  for  I  myself  have  heard  you  declare  against  him  a  thou- 
sand times ;  unless,  indeed,  I  am  to  understand  that  even  ere 
we  left  the  hearth  and  burial-place  of  our  father,  you  had  begun 
that  career  of  falsehood  in  which  you  have  shown  yourself  so 
proficient.  But  I  seek  not  for  the  causes  of  your  present  state ; 
for  the  wrongs  and  the  dishonor  done  me.  If  you  be  not  ut- 
Jerly  destitute  of  manhood,  cut  these  bonds,  and  let  the  issue  for 
life  and  death  between  us  determine  which  is  right." 

"  There  !  You  have  your  wish,  Clarence  Conway."  And,  as 
he  spoke,  he  separated  the  cords  with  his  hunting-knife,  and  the 
partisan  extended  his  limbs  in  all  the  delightful  consciousness 
of  recovered  freedom. 

"You  are  so  far  free,  Clarence  Conway! — your  limbs  are  un- 


THE   TRUE   ISSUE.  .119 

bound,  but  you  are  unarmed.  I  restore  you  the  weapon  with 
which  you  this  day  provided  me.  It  would  now  be  easy  for  you 
to  take  the  life  of  him  whom  you  so  bitterly  denounce.  I  have 
no  weapon  to  defend  myself;  my  bosom  is  without  defence." 

"  What  mean  you  1  Think  you  that  I  would  rush  on  you 
unarmed — that  I  seek  unfair  advantage1?" 

"  No,  Clarence ;  for  your  own  sake  and  safety,  I  would  not 
fight  you  now." 

"  Why  for  my  safety  ?"  demanded  the  partisan. 

"  For  the  best  of  reasons.  Were  you  to  succeed  in  taking 
my  life,  it  would  avail  you  nothing,  and  your  own  would  be  for- 
feit. You  could  not  escape  from  this  place,  and  fifty  weapons 
would  be  ready  to  avenge  my  death." 

"  Why,  then,  this  mockery — this  cutting  loose  my  bonds — 
this  providing  me  with  weapons  ?"  demanded  Clarence. 

"  You  shall  see.  You  know  not  yet  my  desire.  Hear  me. 
My  purpose  is  to  acquit  myself  wholly  of  the  debt  I  owe  you, 
so  that,  when  we  do  meet,  there  shall  be  nothing  to  enfeeble 
either  of  our  arms,  or  diminish  their  proper  execution.  Once 
to-night  I  have  saved  you,  even  at  the  peril  of  my  own  life, 
from  the  fury  of  my  followers.  I  have  already  severed  your 
bonds.  I  have  restored  your  weapon,  and  before  the  dawn  of 
another  day,  the  fleet  limbs  of  your  own  charger  shall  secure 
your  freedom.  This  done,  Clarence  Conway,  I  shall  feel  myself 
acquitted  of  all  those  burdensome  obligations  which,  hitherto, 
have  made  me  suppress  the  natural  feelings  of  my  heart — the 
objects  of  my  mind — the  purposes  of  interest,  ambition,  love  — 
all  of  which  depend  upon  your  life.  So  long  as  you  live,  I  live 
not — so  long  as  yon  breathe,  my  breath  is  drawn  with  doubt, 
difficulty,  and  in  danger.  Your  life  has  been  in  my  hands,  but 
I  could  not  take  it  while  I  was  indebted  to  you  for "  my  own. 
By  to-morrow's  dawn  I  shall  be  acquitted  of  the  debt — I  shall 
have  given  you  life  for  life,  and  liberty  for  liberty.  After  that, 
when  we  next  meet,  my  gifts  shall  be  scorn  for  scorn  and  blow 
for  blow.  You  have  my  purpose." 

Clarence  Conway  heard  him  with  patience,  but  with  mixed 
feelings.  He  was  about  to  reply  in  a  similar  spirit,  but  a  nobler 
sentiment  arose  in  his  bosom  with  the  momentary  pause  which 


120  THE   SCOUT. 

lie  allowed  himself  for  thought.  He  kept  down  the  gushing 
blood  which  was  about  to  pour  itself  forth  in  defiance  from  his 
laboring  breast,  and  spoke  as  follows — 

"  I  will  not  say,  Edward  Conway,  what  I  might  safely  declare 
of  my  own  indifference  to  your  threats.  Nay,  were  I  to  obey 
the  impulses  which  are  now  striving  within  me  for  utterance,  I 
should  rather  declare  how  happy  it  would  make  me  were  the 
hour  of  that  -struggle  arrived.  But  there*  are  reasons  that  speak 
loudly  against  the  wish.  For  your  sake,  for  our  father's  sake, 
Edward  Conway,  I  would  pray  that  we  might  never  meet  again." 

"  Pshaw  !  these  are  whining  follies  ! — the  cant  of  the  girl  or 
the  puritan.  They  do  not  impose  on  me.  Your  father's  sake 
and  mine,  indeed !  Say  nothing  for  yourself — for  your  own 
sake — oh,  no  !  no  !  you  have  no  considerations  of  self — none  ! 
Philanthropic,  patriotic  gentleman !" 

The  keen  eye  of  Clarence  flashed  angrily  as  he  listened  to  this 
sneer.  He  bit  his  lip  to  restrain  his  emotion,  and  once  more 
replied,  but  it  was  no  longer  in  the  language  of  forbearance. 

"  I  am  not  unwilling  to  say,  for  my  sake  also,  Edward  Conway. 
Even  to  you  I  need  not  add,  that  no  mean  sentiment  of  fear 
governs  me  in  the  expression.  Fear  I  have  of  no  man.  Fear 
of  you,  Edward  Conway — you,  14  your  present  degraded  atti- 
tude and  base  condition — the  leagued  with  ruffians  and  common 
stabbers — a  traitor  and  a  liar!  —  Fear  of  you  I  could  not  have  ! 
Nor  do  you  need  that  I  should  tell  you  this.  You  feel  it  in  your 
secret  soul.  You  know  that  I  never  feared  you  in  boyhood,  and 
can  not  fear  you  now.  My  frequent  experience  of  your  powers 
and  my  own,  makes  me  as  careless  of  your  threats,  as  that  natu- 
ral courage,  which  belongs  to  my  blood  and  mind,  makes  me 
insensible  to  the  threats  of  others.  Go  to — you  can  not  bully 
me.  I  scorn — I  utterly  despise  you." 

"  Enough,  enough,  Colonel  Conway.  We  understand  each 
other,"  cried  the  outlaw,  almost  convulsed  with  his  emotions. 
"  We  are  quits  from  this  hour.  Henceforward  I  fling  the  ties  of 
blood  to  the  winds.  As  I  do  not  feel  them,  I  will  not  affect 
them.  I  acknowledge  them  no  more.  I  am  not  your  father's 
son — not  your  brother.  I  forswear,  and  from  this  moment  I 
shall  for  ever  deny  the  connection.  I  have  no  share  in  the  base 


THE   TRUE   ISSUE.  121 

puddle  which  fills  your  veins.  Know  me,  henceforth,  for  a 
nobler  spirit.  I  glory  in  the  name  which  scares  your  puny 
squadrons.  I  am  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders  of  Congaree — 
that  fell  banditti  which  makes  your  women  shiver  and  your 
warriors  fly — upon  whom  you  invoke  and  threaten  vengeance 
equally  in  vain.  I  care  not  to  be  distinguished  by  any  other 
name  or  connection.  You,  I  shall  only  know  as  one  to  whom  I 
am  pledged  for  battle,  and  whom  I  am  sworn  to  destroy.  You 
know  not,  forsooth,  what  has  driven  me  to  this  position !  I  will 
tell  you  here,  once  for  all ;  and  the  answer,  I  trust,  will  con- 
clude your  doubts  for  ever.  Hate  for  you  —  for  you  only!  I 
hated  you  from  your  cradle,  with  an  instinct  which  boyhood 
hourly  strengthened,  and  manhood  rendered  invincible.  I  shall 
always  hate  you ;  and  if  I  have  temporized  heretofore,  and  for- 
borne the  declaration  of  the  truth,  it  was  only  the*  more  effectu- 
ally to  serve  and  promote  purposes  which  were  necessary  to  that 
hate.  That  time,  and  the  necessity  of  forbearance,  are  at  an 
end.  I  can  speak,  and  speak  freely,  the  full  feeling *of  my  soul. 
Accident  has  revealed  to  you  what,  perhaps,  I  should  have 
wished  for  a  while  longer  to  withhold ;  but  that  known,  it  is 
now  my  pride  to  have  no  further  concealments.  I  repeat,  there- 
fore, that  I  loathe  you  from  iny  soul,  Clarence  Con  way;  and 
when  I  have  fairly  acquitted  myself  of  the  debt  I  owe  you,  by 
sending  you  to  your  swamp  in  safety,  I  shall  then  seek,  by  every 
effort,  to  overcome  and  destroy  you.  Do  you  hear  me?  —  am  I 
at  last  understood  V 

"  I  hear  you,"  replied  Clarence  Conway,  with  a  tone  calm, 
composed  even ;  and  with  looks  unmoved,  and  even  sternly  con- 
temptuous. "  I  hear  you.  Your  violence  does  not  alarm  me, 
Edward  Conway.  I  look  upon  you  as  a  madman.  As  for  your 
threats — pshaw,  man  !  You  almost  move  me  to  deal  in  clamors 
like  your  own.  Let  us  vapor  here  no  longer.  I  accept  your 
terms.  Give  me  my  freedom,  and  set  all  your  ruffians  on  the 
track.  I  make  no  promise — I  utter  no  threat — but  if  I  fail  to 
take  sweet  revenge  for  the  brutal  outrages  to  which  I  have  this 
night  been  subjected  by  you  and  your  myrmidons,  then  may 
Heaven  fail  me  in  my  dying  hour  !" 

"  We  are  pledged,  Clarence  Conway,"  said  the  outlaw ;  "  be- 
6 


122  THE   SCOUT. 

fore  daylight  I  will  conduct  you  from  this  place.  Your  horse 
shall  be  restored  to  you.  You  shall  be  free.  I  then  know  you 
no  more — I  fling  from  me  the  name  of  kinsman." 

"  Not  more  heartily  than  I.  Black  Rider,  bandit,  outlaw,  or 
ruffian !  I  shall  welcome  you  to  the  combat  by  any  name 
sooner  than  that  which  my  father  has  made  sacred  in  my  ears." 

Morton  bestowed  a  single  glance  on  the  speaker,  in  which  all 
the  hellish  hate  spoke  out  which  had  so  long  been  suppressed, 
yet  working  in  his  bosom.  The  latter  met  the  glance  with  one 
more  cool  and  steady,  if  far  less  full  of  malignity. 

"  Be  it,  then,  as  he  wills  it !"  he  exclaimed,  when  the  outlaw 
had  retired  ;  "  he  shall  find  no  foolish  tenderness  hereafter  in  my 
heart,  working  for  his  salvation  !  If  we  must  meet — if  he  will 
force  it  upon  me — then  God  have  mercy  upon  us  both,  for  I  will 
have  none !  It  is  his  own  seeking.  Let  him  abide  it !  And 
yet,  would  to  God  that  this  necessity  might  pass  me  by  !  Some 
'  other  arm — some  other  weapon  than  mine — may  do  me  justice, 
and  acquit  me  of  this  cruel  duty !" 

Long  and  earnest  that  night  was  the  prayer  of  Clarence,  that 
he  might  he  spared  from  that  strife  which,  so  far,  threatened  to 
be  inevitable.  Yet  he  made  not  this  prayer  because  of  any 
affection — which,  under  the  circumstances,  must  have  been 
equally  misplaced  and  unnatural — which  he  bore  his  kinsman. 
They  had  never  loved.  The  feelings  of  brotherhood  had  been 
unfelt  by  either.  Their  moods  had  been  warring  from  the  first 
— it  does  not  need  that  we  should  inquire  why.  The  sweet 
dependencies  of  mutual  appeal  and  confidence  were  unknown  to, 
and  unexercised  by,  either ;  and,  so  far  as  their  sympathies  were 
interested,  Clarence,  like  the  other,  would  have  felt  no  more 
scruple  at  encountering  Edward  Conway  in  battle,  than  in  meet- 
ing any  indifferent  person,  who  was  equally  his  own  and  the  foe 
of  his  country. 

But  there  was  something  shocking  to  the  social  sense,  in  such 
a  conflict,  which  prompted  the  prayers  of  the  youth  that  it  might 
be  averted ;  and  this  prayer,  it  may  be  added,  was  only  made 
when  the  excitement  which  their  conference  had  induced,  was 
partly  over.  His  prayer  was  one  of  reflection  and  the  mind. 
His  blood  took  no  part  in  the  entreaty.  At  moments,  when 


THINGS   IN   EMBRYO.  123 

feeling,  moved  by  memory,  obtained  the  ascendency — even 
while  he  strove  in  prayer — the  boon  which  he  implored  was 
forgotten  ;  and,  rising  from  his  knees,  he  thought  of  nothing  but 
the  sharp  strife  and  the  vengeance  which  it  promised.  Perhaps, 
indeed,  this  mood  prevailed  even  after  the  supplication  was 
ended.  It  mingled  in  with  the  feelings  which  followed  it,  and 
whenever  they  became  excited,  the  revulsion  ceased  entirely, 
which  a  more  deliberate  thought  of  the  subject  necessarily 
occasioned.  The  passion  of  the  gladiator  was  still  warm,  even 
after  the  prayer  was  ended  of  the  Christian  man. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THINGS    IN    EMBRYO. 

EDWARD  MORTON  kept  his  promise.  Before  the  dawn  of  the 
following  day  he  released  his  kinsman  from  prison.  He  had 
previously  sent  his  followers  out  of  the  way — all  save  the  land- 
lord, Muggs — who  could  scarcely  be  counted  one  of  them — 
and  some  two  or  three  more  upon  whom  he  thought  he  could 
rely.  He  was  not  without  sufficient  motive  for  this  caution. — 
He  had  his  apprehensions  of  that  unruly  and  insubordinate  spirit 
which  they  had  already  shown,  and  which,  baffled  of  its  expected 
victim,  he  reasonably  believed  might  once  more  display  itself  in 
defiance.  A  strange  idea  of  honor  prompted  him  at  all  hazards 
to  set  free  the  person,  the  destruction  of  whom  would  have  been 
to  him  a  source  of  the  greatest  satisfaction.  Contradictions  of 
this  sort  are  not  uncommon  among  minds  which  have  been  sub- 
ject to  conflicting  influences.  It  was  not  a  principle,  but  pride, 
that  moved  him  to  this  magnanimity.  Even  Edward  Conway, 
boasting  of  his  connection  with  the  most  atrocious  ruffians,  would 
have  felt  a  sense  of  shame  to  have  acted  otherwise. 

The  noble  animal  which  Clarence  rode  was  restored  to  him 
at  his  departure.  Morton,  also  mounted,  accompanied  him,  in 
silence,  for  a  mile  beyond  the  secluded  spot  which  the  robbers 


124  THE  SCOUT. 

Jiad  chosen  for  their  temporary  refuge.  He  then  spoke  at  part- 
ing. 

"  Colonel  Conway,  your  path  is  free,  and  you  are  also !  Be- 
fore you  lies  the  road  to  the  Wateree,  with  which  you  are  suf- 
ficiently acquainted.  Here  we  separate.  I  have  fulfilled  my 
pledges.  When  next  we  meet  I  shall  remind  you  of  yours.  Till 
then,  farewell." 

He  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  striking  his  rowel  fiercely 
into  the  flanks  of  his  horse,  he  galloped  rapidly  back  to  the 
place  which  he  had  left.  The  eye  of  Clarence  followed  him 
with  an  expression  of  stern  defiance,  not  unmingled'with  sadness, 
while  he  replied  : — 

"  I  will  not  fail  thee,  be  that  meeting  when  it  may.  Sad  as 
the  necessity  is,  I  will  not  shrink  from  it.  I,  too,  have  my 
wrongs  to  avenge,  Edward  Conway.  I,  too,  acknowledge  that 
instinct  of  hate  from  the  beginning,  which  will  make  a  labor  of 
love  of  this  work  of  vengeance.  I  have  striven,  but  fruitlessly, 
for  its  suppression ; — now  let  it  have  its  way.  The  hand  of 
fate  is  in  it.  We  have  never  loved  each  other.  We  have  both 
equally  doubted,  distrusted,  disliked — and  these  instincts  have 
strengthened  with  our  strength,  grown  with  our  growth,  and 
their  fruits  are  here  !  Shall  I,  alone,  regret  them  1  Shall  they 
revolt  my  feelings  only  1  No !  I  have  certainly  no  fear — I 
shall  endeavor  to  free  myself  from  all  compunction !  Let  the 
strife  come  when  it  may,  be  sure  I  shall  be  last  to  say,  '  Hold  off 
— are  we  not  brethren  V  You  fling  away  the  ties  of  blood,  do 
you  ?  Know  from  me,  Edward  Conway,  that  in  flinging  away 
these  ties,  you  fling  from  you  your  only  security.  They  have 
often  protected  you  from  my  anger  before — they  shall  protect 
you  no  longer." 

And  slowly,  and  solemnly,  while  the  youth  spoke,  did  he 
wave  Ijis  open  palm  toward  the  path  taken  by  his  brother.  But 
he  wasted  no  more  time  in  soliloquy.  Prudence  prompted  him, 
without  delay,  to  avail  himself  of  the  freedom  which  had  been 
given  him.  He  knew  not  what  pursuers  might  be  upon  his 
path.  He  was  not  satisfied  that  his  kinsman  would  still  be  true, 
without  evasion,  to  the  assurances  which  he  had  given  in  a 
mood  of  unwonted  magnanimity.  He  plied  his  spurs  freely, 


THINGS   IN   EMBRYO.  125 

therefore,  and  his  steed  acknowledged  the  governing  impulse.' 
Another  moment  found  him  pressing  toward  the  swamp. 

But  he  had  scarcely  commenced  his  progress,  when  a  well- 
known  voice  reached  his  ears,  in  a  friendly  summons  to  stop; 
while  on  one  hand,  emerging  from  the  forest,  came  riding  out 
his  faithful  friend  and  adherent,  Jack  Bannister. 

"  Ah,  true  and  trusty,  Jack.  Ever  watchful.  Ever  mindful 
of  your  friend — worth  a  thousand  friends — I  might  well  have 
looked  to  see  you  as  nigh  to  me  in  danger  as  possible.  I  owe 
you  much,  Jadk — very  much.  It  was  you,  then,  as  I  thought, 
whose  rifle " 

"Worked  that  chap's  buttonhole,"  was  the  answer  of  the 
woodman,  with  a  chuckle,  as  shaking  aloft  the  long  ungainly 
but  unerring  instrument,  with  one  hand,  he  grasped  with  the 
other  the  extended  hand  of  his  superior. 

"  I  couldn't  stand  to  see  the  fellow  handle  you  roughly, 
Clarence.  It  made  the  gall  bile  up  within  me ;  and  though  I 
knowed  that  'twould  bring  the  whole  pack  out  upon  me,  and 
was  mighty  dub'ous  that  it  would  make  the  matter  worse  for 
you ;  yet  I  couldn't  work  it  out  no  other  way.  I  thought  you 
was  gone  for  good  and  all,  and  that  made  me  sort  of  desp'rate. 
I  didn't  pretty  much  know  what  I  was  a-doing,  and,  it  mought 
be,  that  Polly  Longlips"  (here  he  patted  the  rifle  affectionately) 
"  went  off  herself,  for  I  don't  think  I  sighted  her.  If  I  had, 
Clarence,  I  don't  think  the  drop  would  ha'  been  on  the  button 
of  him  that  tumbled.  I'm  a  thinking  'twould  ha'  drawn  blood 
that  was  a  mighty  sight  more  nigh  to  your'n,  if  there  was  any 
good  reason  that  your  father  had  for  giving  Edward  Conway 
the  name  he  goes  by.  I  suppose,  Clarence,  you're  pretty  nigh 
certain  now  that  he's  no  ra'al,  proper  kin  of  your'n,  for  you  to 
be  keeping  him  out  of  harm's  way,  and  getting  into  it  yourself 
on  account  of  him. 

"  And  yet,  he  saved  me  from  those  ruffians,  Jack." 

"  Dog's  meat !  Clarence,  and  what  of  that  ?  Wa'n't  it  him 
that  got  you  into  their  gripe ;  and  wouldn't  he  ha'  been  worse 
than  any  sarpent  that  ever  carried  p'ison  at  the  root  of  his 
upper  jaw,  if  he  hadn't  ha'  saved  you,  after  what  you'd  done 
for  him  jest  afore  ?  Don't  talk  to  me  of  his  saving  you,  Clar- 


126  THE  SCOUT. 

ence — don't  say  anything  more  in  his  favor,  or  I'll  stuff  my 
ears  with  moss  and  pine  gum  whenever  you  open  your  lips  to 
speak.  You've  stood  by  him  long  enough,  and  done  all  that 
natur'  called  for,  and  more  than  was  nateral.  Half  the  men  I 
know,  if  they  had  ever  been  saved  by  any  brother,  as  you've 
been  saved  by  him,  would  ha'  sunk  a  tooth  into  his  heart  that 
wouldn't  ha'  worked  its  way  out  in  one  winter,  no  how.  But 
you've  done  with  him  now,  I  reckon ;  and  if  you  ain't,  I'm 
done  with  you.  There'll  be  no  use  for  us  to  travel  together,  if 
you  ain't  ready  to  use  your  knife  agen  Edward  Conway  the 
same  as  agin  any  other  tory." 

"  Be  satisfied,  Jack.  I'm  sworn  to  it — nay,  pledged  to  him 
by  oath — when  we  next  meet  to  make  our  battle  final.  It  was 
on  this  condition  that  he  set  me  free." 

"  Well,  he's  not  so  mean  a  skunk  after  all,  if  he's  ready  to 
fight  it  out.  I  didn't  think  he  was  bold  enough  for  that.  But 
it's  all  the  better.  I  only  hope  that  when  the  time  comes,  I'll 
be  the  one  to  see  fair  play.  I'll  stand  beside  you,  and  if  he 
flattens  you — which,  God  knows,  I  don't  think  it's  in  one  of  his 
inches  to  do — why,  he'll  only  have  to  flatten  another.  It's 
cl'ar  to  you  now,  Clarence,  that  you  knows  all  about  him." 

"  Yes  !  He  is  the  leader  of  the  Black  Eiders.  He  declared 
it  with  his  own  lips." 

"  When  he  couldn't  help  it  no  longer.  Why,  Clarence,  he 
'twas,  that  sent  them  fellows  a'ter  you  that  tuk  you.  I  didn't 
see  it,  but  I  knows  it  jest  the  same  as  if  I  did.  But,  though 
you  know  that  he's  a  tory  and  a  Black  Rider,  there's  a  thousand 
villanies  he's  been  doing,  ever  since  we  played  together,  that 
you  know  nothing  about ;  and  I'm  'minded  of  one  in  preticular 
that  happened  when  you  was  at  college  in  England,  by  the 
coming  of  old  Jake  Clarkson  ! — You  'member  Jake  Clarkson, 
that  planted  a  short  mile  from  your  father's  place,  don't  you  ? — 
he  had  a  small  patch  of  farm,  and  did  boating  along  the  river, 
like  myself." 

"Yes,  very  well — I  remember  him." 

"Well,  him  I  mean.  Old  Jake  had  a  daughter — I  reckon 
you  don't  much  remember  her,  Mary  Clarkson — as  spry  and 
sweet  a  gal  as  ever  man  set  eyes  on.  I  had  a  liking  for  the  gal 


THINGS   IN   EMBRYO.  127 

— I  own  it,  Clarence — and  if  so  be  things  hadn't  turned  out  as 
they  did,  I  rnought  ha'  married  her.  But  it's  a  God's  blessing 
I  didn't ;  for  you  see  Edward  Conway  got  the  better  of  her, 
and  'fore  Jake  know'd  anything  about  it,  poor  Mary  was  a- 
carrying  a  bundle  she  had  no  law  to  carry.  When  they  pushed 
the  gal  about  it,  she  confessed  'twas  Edward  Conway's  doings ; 
and  she  told  a  long  gal's  story  how  Edward  had  promised  to 
marry  her,  and  swore  it  on  Holy  Book,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
which  was  pretty  much  out  of  reason  and  nater — not  for  him 
to  speak  it,  but  for  her  to  be  such  a  child  as  to  believe  it. 
But  no  matter.  The  stir  was  mighty  gre^  about  it.  Old  Jake 
carried  a  rifle  more  than  three  months  for  Edward  Conway, 
and  he  took  that  time  to  make  his  first  trip  to  Florida ;  where, 
I'm  thinking,  bad  as  he  was  before,  he  larn'd  to  be  a  great 
deal  worse.  It  was  there  that  he  picked  up  all  his  tory  no- 
tions from  having  too  much  dealing  with  John  Stuart,  the 
Indian  agent,  who,  you  know,  is  jist  as  bad  an  inimy  of  our 
liberties  as  ever  come  out  of  the  old  country.  Well,  but  the 
worst  is  yet  to  tell.  Poor  Mary  couldn't  stand  the  desartion  of 
Edward  Conway  and  the  diskivery  of  her  sitiation.  Beside,  old 
Jake  was  too  rough  for  the  poor  child,  who,  you  know,  Clar- 
ence, was  a'most  to  be  pitied ;  for  it's  mighty  few  women  in 
this  world  that  can  say  no  when  they're  axed  for  favors  by  a 
man  they  have  a  liking  for.  Old  Jake  was  mighty  cross ;  and 
Molly,  .his  wife,  who,  by  nature,  was  a  she-tiger,  she  made  her 
tongue  wag  night  and  day  about  the  sad  doing  of  the  poor  gal, 
'till  her  heart  was  worn  down  in  her  bosom,  and  she  didn't  dare 
to  look  up,  and  trimbled  whenever  anybody  came  nigh  to  her, 
and  got  so  wretched  and  scary  at  last,  that  she  went  off  one 
night,  nobody  knows  whar,  and  left  no  tracks.  Well,  there- 
was  another  stir.  We  were  all  turned  out  on  the  sarch,  and  it 
was  my  misfortune,  Clarence,  to  be  the  first  to  find  out  what  had 
become  of  her.  Dickens  !  it  makes  my  eyes  water  to  this  day  !" 

"And  where  did  you  find  her,  Jack1?" 

"  Didn't  find  her,  Clarence ;  but  found  out  the  miserable  end 
she  made  of  herself.  We  found  her  bonnet  and  shawl  on  the 
'banks  of  the  river,  but  her  body  we  couldn't  git !  The  rocks  at 
the  bottom  of  the  Congaree  know  all  about  it,  I  reckon." 


128  THE   SCOUT. 

*'  I  have  now  a  faint  recollection  of  this  story,  Bannister.  I 
must  have  heard  it  while  in  England,  or  soon  after  my  return." 

"  'Twas  a  bad  business,  Clarence ;  and  I  didn't  feel  the  small- 
est part  of  it.  I  didn't  know  till  I  come  across  the  gal's  bonnet 
how  great  a  liking  I  had  for  her.  I  reckon  I  cried  like  a  baby 
over  it.  From  that  day  I  mistrusted  Edward  Conway  worse 
than  p'ison.  There  was  a-many  things,  long  before  that,  that 
made  me  suspicion  him ;  but  after  that,  Clarence,  I  always  felt, 
when  I  was  near  him,  as  if  I  saw  a  great  snake,  a  viper,  or  a 
mockasin,  and  looked  all  round  for  a  chunk  to  mash  its  head 
with."  ^ 

"And  what  of  her  old  father,  Jack  ?" 

«  Why,  he's  come  "up  to  join  your  troop.  I  was  so  full  of 
thinking  'bout  other  matters  yisterday,  when  I  saw  you,  that  I 
quite  forgot  to  tell  you.  He's  been  fighting  below  with  Mari- 
on's men,  but  he  wanted  to  look  at  the  old  range,  and  so  he' 
broke  off  to  go  under  Sumter ; — but  the  true  story  is,  I'm  think- 
ing, that  he's  hearn  how  Edward  Conway  is  up  here  somewhar, 
a-fighting,  and  he  comes  to  empty  that  rifle  at  his  head.  He'll 
say  his  prayers  over  the  bullet  that  he  uses  at  him,  and  I  reckon 
will  make  a  chop  in  it,  so  that  he  may  know,  when  his  inimy  is 
tumbled,  if  the  shot  that  does  the  business  was  the  one  that  had 
a  commission  for  it." 

"And  Clarkson  is  now  with  us  1     In  the  swamp  V9 

"  I  left  him  at  the  '  Big  Crossings.'  But,  Clarence,  don't  you 
say  nothing  to  him  about  this  business.  It's  a  sore  thing  with 
him  still,  though  the  matter  is  so  long  gone  by.  But  everything 
helps  to  keep  it  alive  in  his  heart.  His  old  woman's  gone  to 
her  long  home ;  and  though  she  had  a  rough  tongue  and  a  long 
one,  yet  he  was  usen  to  her ;  and,  when  he  lost  little  Mary,  and 
then  her,  and  the  tories  burnt  his  house,  it  sort-a  cut  him  up, 
root  and  branch,  and  made  him  fretful  and  vexatious.  But  he'll 
fight,  Clarence,  like  old  blazes — there's  no  mistake  in  him." 

"  I  will  be  careful,  Jack ;  but  a  truce  to  this.  We  have  but 
little  time  for  old  histories ;  and  such  melancholy  ones  as  these 
may  well  be  forgotten.  We  have  enough  before  us  sufficiently 
sad  to  demand  all  our  attention  and  awaken  our  griefs.  To 
business  now,  Jack.  We  have  idled  long  enough." 


*  THINGS   IN   EMBRYO.  129 

"  Ready,  colonel.     Say  the  word." 

"  Take  the  back  track,  and  see  after  these  Black  Riders.  We 
are  fairly  pledged  now  to  encounter  them  —  to  beat  them — to 
make  the  cross  in  blood  on  the  breast  of  the  very  best  of  them." 

"  Edward  Conway  at  the  head  of  them  !" 

"Edward  Conway  no  longer,  John  Bannister.  He  himself 
disclaims  the  name  with  scorn.  Let  him  have  the  name,  with 
the  doom,  which  is  due  to  the  chief  of  the  banditti  which  He 
leads.  That  name  has  saved  him  too  long  already.  I  rejoice 
that  he  now  disclaims  it,  with  all  its  securities.  After  him,  John 
Bannister.  If  you  have  skill  as  a  scout,  use  it  now.  After 
what  has  passed  between  us,  he  will  be  on  my  heels  very 
shortly.  He  may  be,  even  now,  with  all  his  band.  I  must  be 
prepared  for  him,  and  must  distrust  him.  It  is  therefore  of  vast 
importance  that  all  his  movements  should  be  known.  To  your 
discretion  I  leave  it.  Away.  Find  me  in  the  swamp  to-morrow 
at  the  Little  Crossings.  We  must  leave  it  for  the  Congaree  in 
three  days  more.  Away.  Let  your  horse  use  his  heels." 

A  brief  grasp  of  the  hand,  and  a  kind  word,  terminated  the 
interview  between  the  youthful  partisan  and  his  trusty  follower. 
The  latter  dashed  abruptly  into  the  woods  bordering  the  swamp, 
while  the  former,  taking  an  upper  route,  pursued  the  windings 
of  the  river,  till  he  reached  the  point  he  aimeu  at.  We  will  not 
follow  the  course  of  either  for  the  present,  but  return  to  the 
house  of  Muggs,  and  observe,  somewhat  further,  the  proceedings 
of  the  outlawed  captain. 

There,  everything  had  the  appearance  of  a  rapid  movement. 
The  troopers,  covered  by  a  thick  wood,  were  preparing  to  ride. 
Horses,  ready  caparisoned,  were  fastened  beneath  the  trees, 
while  their  riders,  singly  or  in  groups,  were  seeking  in  various 
ways  to  while  away  the  brief  interval  of  time  accorded  them  in 
the  delay  of  their  chief  officer. 

He,  meanwhile,  in  the  wigwam  of  Muggs,  seemed  oppressed 
by  deliberations  which  baffled  for  the  time  his  habitual  activity. 
He  sat  upon  the  same  bulk  which  he  had  occupied  while  a  pris- 
oner the  night  before,  and  appeared  willing  to  surrender  himself 
to  that  fit  of  abstraction  which  the  landlord — though  he  watched 
it  with  manifest  uneasiness — did  not  seem  bold  enough  to  inter- 

6* 


130  THE  SCOUT. 

rupt.  At  length  the  door  of  the  apartment  opened,  and  the 
presence  of  a  third  person  put  an  end  to  the  meditations  of  the 
one  and  the  forbearance  of  the  other  party. 

The  intruder  was  a  youth,  apparently  not  more  than  seven- 
teen years  of  age.  Such  would  have  been  the  impression  on 
any  mind,  occasioned  by  his  timid  bearing  and  slender  figure ; 
indeed,  he  would  have  been  called  undersized  for  seventeen. 
But  there  was  that  in  his  pale,  well-defined  features,  which  spoke 
for  a  greater  maturity  of  thought,  if  not  of  time,  than  belongs  to 
this  early  period  in  life.  The  lines  of  his  cheeks  and  mouth 
were  full  of  intelligence — that  intelligence  which  results  from 
early  anxieties  and  the  pressure  of  serious  necessities.  The 
frank,  free,  heedless  indifference  of  the  future,  which  shines  out 
in  the  countenance  of  boyhood,  seemed  utterly  obliterated  from 
his  face.  The  brow  was  already  touched  with  wrinkles,  that 
appeared  strangely  at  variance  with  the  short,  closely  cropped 
black  hair,  the  ends  of  which  were  apparent  beneath  the  slouched 
cap  of  fur  he  wore.  The  features  were  pensive,  rather  pretty, 
indeed,  but  awfully  pale.  Though  they  expressed  great  intelli- 
gence and  the  presence  of  an  active  thought,  yet  this  did  not 
seem  to  have  produced  its  usual  result  in  conferring  confidence. 
The  look  of  the  youth  was  downcast,  and  when  his  large  dark 
eyes  ventured  to  meet  those  of  the  speaker,  they  seemed  to 
cower  and  to  shrink  within  themselves;  and  this  desire  ap- 
peared to  give  them  an  unsteady,  dancing  motion,  which  became 
painful  to  the  beholder,  as  it  seemed  to  indicate  apprehension,  if 
not  fright,  in  the  proprietor.  His  voice  faltered  too  when  he 
spoke,  and  was  only  made  intelligible  by  his  evident  effort  at 
deliberateness. 

Like  that  of  the  rest  of  the  troop,  the  costume  of  the  youth 
was  black.  A  belt  of  black  leather  encircled  his  waist,  in 
which  pistols  and  a  knife  were  ostentatiously  stuck.  Yet  how 
should  one  so  timid  be  expected  to  use  them  1  Trembling  in 
the  presence  of  a  friend,  what  firmness  could  he  possess  in  the 
encounter  with  a  foe  ?  Where  was  the  nerve,  the  strength,  for 
the  deadly  issues  of  battle  ?  It  seemed,  indeed,  a  mockery 
of  fate — a  cruelty — to  send  forth  so  feeble  a  frame  and  so  fear- 
ful a  spirit,  while  the  thunder  and  the  threatening  storm  were 


THINGS  IN  EMBRYO.  131 

in  the  sky.  But  no  such  scruples  appeared  to  afflict  the  chief; 
nor  did  he  seem  to  recognise  the  expression  of  timidity  in  the 
boy's  features  and  manner  of  approach.  Perhaps,  he  ascribed 
his  emotions  to  the  natural  effect  of  his  own  stern  manner,  which 
was  rather  increased  than  softened  as  he  listened  to  the  assur- 
ance which  the  boy  made  that  all  was  ready  for  a  movement. 

"  You  have  lingered,  boy  !" 

"  Barton  and  the  ensign  were  not  with  the  rest,  sir,  and  I  had 
to  look  for  them  !" 

"  So  ! — plotting  again,  were  they  ]  But  they  shall  find  their 
match  yet !  Fools  !  Blind  and  deaf  fools,  that  will  not  content 
themselves  with  being  knaves  to  their  own  profit,  but  press  on 
perversely  as  knaves,  to  their  utter  ruin.  But  go,  boy — see 
that  your  own  horse  is  ready ;  and  hark  ye,  do  not  be  following 
too  closely  at  my  heels.  I  have  told  you  repeatedly,  keep  the 
rear  when  we  are  advancing,  the  front  only  when  we  are  retreat- 
ing. Remember." 

The  boy  bowed  respectfully,  and  left  the  room. 

"  And  now,  Muggs,  you  are  bursting  to  speak.  I  know  why, 
wherefore,  and  on  what  subject.  Now,  do  you  know  that  I 
have  but  to  reveal  to  the  troop  the  suggestion  you  made  to  me 
last  night,  to  have  them  tear  you  and  your  house  to  pieces  ?  Do 
you  forget  that  desertion  is  death,  according  to  your  own 
pledges  ?" 

•'  I  am  no  longer  one  of  the  troop,"  replied  the  landlord 
hastily. 

"  Ay,  that  may  be  in  one  sense,  but  is  scarcely  so  in  any 
other.  You  are  only  so  far  released  from  your  oath  that  no  one 
expects  you  to  do  active  duty.  But,  let  them  hear  you  speak, 
even  of  yourself,  as  last  night  you  spoke  to  me,  of  my  policy, 
and  they  will  soon  convince  you  that  they  hold  you  as  fairly 
bound  to  them  now,  as  you  were  when  all  your  limbs  were  per- 
fect. They  will  only  release  you  by  tearing  what  remains 
asunder." 

"  Well,  but  cappin,  suppose  they  would,  as  you  say.  There's 
no  reason  why  they  should  know  the  advice  I  give  to  you ;  and 
there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  take  that  advice.  We're 
besot,  as  I  said  before,  with  dangers.  There's  Greene  with  his 


132  THE  SCOUT. 

army,  a-gaining  grouncT  every  day.  There's  Sumter,  and  Mar- 
ion, and  Pickens,  and  Mali  am,  and " 

"  Pshaw,  Muggs  !  what  a  d — d  catalogue  is  this ;  and  what 
matters  it  all  1  Be  it  as  you  say — do  I  not  know  ?  Did  I  not 
know,  at  the  beginning,  of  all  these  dangers  1  They  do  not 
terrify  me  now,  any  more  than  then  !  These  armies  that  you 
speak  of  are  mere  skeletons." 

"  They  give  mighty  hard  knocks  for  skilitons.  There's  that 
affair  at  Hobkirk's " 

"  Well,  did  not  Rawdon  keep  the  field  ?" 

"  Not  over-long,  cappin,  and  now " 

"  Look  you,  Muggs,  one  word  for  all.  I  am  sworn  to  the 
troop.  I  will  keep  my  oath.  They  shall  find  no  faltering  in 
me.  Living  or  dead,  I  stand  by  them  to  the  last ;  and  I  give 
you  these  few  words  of  counsel,  if  you  would  be  safe.  I  will 
keep  secret  what  you  have  said  to  me,  for,  I  believe,  you  meant 
me  kindly  ;  but  let  me  hear  no  more  of  the  same  sort  of  counsel. 
Another  word  to  the  same  effect,  and  I  deliver  you  over  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  those  with  whom  the  shortest  prayer  is  a  span 
too  long  for  an  offender  whose  rope  is  ready  and  Avhose  tree  is 
near." 

These  words  were  just  spoken  as  the  boy  reappeared  at  the 
door  and  informed  the  chief  that  the  troop  was  in  motion.  The 
latter  rose  and  prepared  to  follow.  He  shook  hands  with  the 
landlord  at  parting,  contenting  himself  with  saying  the  single 
word,  "  Remember  !" — in  a  tone  of  sufficient  warning — in  reply 
to  the  other's  farewell.  In  this,  Edward  Morton  displayed 
another  sample  of  the  practised  hypocrisy  of  his  character.  His 
first  mental  soliloquy  after  leaving  the  landlord,  was  framed  in 
such  language  as  the  following — 

"  I  like  your  counsel,  Master  Muggs,  but  shall  be  no  such  fool 
as  to  put  myself  in  your  power  by  showing  you  that  I  like  it. 
I  were  indeed  a  sodden  ass,  just  at  this  moment,  when  half  of 
my  troop  suspect  me  of  treachery,  to  suffer  you  to  hear,  from 
my  own  lips,  that  I  actually  look  with  favor  upon  your  counsel. 
Yet  the  old  fool  reasons  rightly.  This  is  no  region  for  me  now. 
It  will  not  be  much  longer.  The  British  power  is  passing  away 
rapidly.  Rawdon  will  not  sustain  himself  much  longer.  Corn- 


THINGS  IN  EMBEYO.  133 

wallis  felt  that,  and  hence  his  pretended  invasion  of  Virginia. 
Invasion,  indeed  !  —  a  cover  only  to  conceal  his  own  flight.  But 
what  care  I  for  him  or  them  1  My  own  game  is  of  sufficient 
importance,  and  that  is  well  nigh  up.  I  deceived  myself  when 
I  fancied  that  the  rebels  could  not  sustain  themselves  through 
the  campaign ;  and  if  I  wait  to  see  the  hunt  up,  I  shall  have  a 
plentiful  harvest  from  my  own  folly.  No,  no  !  I  must  get  out 
of  the  scrape  as  well  as  I  can,  and  with  all  possible  speed.  But 
no  landlords  for  confidants.  A  wise  man  needs  none  of  any 
kind.  They  are  for  your  weak,  dependent,  adhesive  people ; 
folks  who  believe  in  friendships  and  loves,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
Loves!  Have  I,  then,  none — no  loves?  Ay,  there  are  a 
thousand  in  that  one.  If  I  can  win  her,  whether  by  fair  word 
or  fearless  deed,  well !  It  will  not  then  be  hard  to  break  from 
these  scoundrels.  But,  here  they  are  !" 

Such  was  the  train  of  Edward  Morton's  thoughts  as  he  left 
the  landlord.  Followed  by  the  boy  of  whom  we  have  already 
spoken,  he  cantered  forth  to  the  wood  where  the  troop  had 
formed,  and  surveyed  them  with  a  keen,  searching,  soldierly  eye. 

Morton  was  not  without  military  ambition,  and  certainly  pos- 
sessed, like  his  brother,  a  considerable  share  of  military  talent. 
His  glance  expressed  pleasure  at  the  trim,  excellent  dress  and 
aspect  of  his  troop.  Beyond  this,  and  those  common  purposes 
of  selfishness  which  had  prompted  the  evil  deeds,  as  well  of  men 
as  leader,  he  had  no  sympathies  with  them.  Even  as  he  looked 
and  smiled  upon  their  array,  the  thought  rapidly  passed  through 
his  mind — 

"  Could  I  run  their  heads  into  the  swamp  now,  and  withdraw 
my  own,  it  were  no  bad  finish  to  a  doubtful  game.  It  must  be 
tried ;  but  I  must  use  them  something  further.  They  can  do 
good  service  yet,  and  no  man  should  throw  away  his  tools  till 
his  work  is  ended." 

Brief  time  was  given  to  the  examination.  Then  followed  the 
instructions  to  his  subordinates,  which  do  not  require  that  we 
should  repeat  them.  The  details  that  concern  our  narrative  will 
develop  themselves  in  proper  order,  and  in  due  season.  But 
we  may  mention,  that  the  chief  of  the  outlaws  made  his  arrange- 
ments with  some  reference  to  the  rumors  of  disaffection  among 


134  THE  SCOUT. 

his  men  which  had  reached  his  ears.  He  took  care  to  separate 
the  suspected  officers,  in  such  a  way  as  to  deprive  them,  for  the 
present,  of  all  chance  of  communion ;  then,  taking  the  advance, 
he  led  the  troop  forward,  and  was  soon  found  pursuing  the  track 
lately  taken  by  Clarence  Conway. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

NEW    PRINCIPLES    DISCUSSED   BY   OLD   LAWS. 

THE  last  words  of  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders,  as  he  left 
the  presence  of  the  landlord,  had  put  that  worthy  into  a  most 
unenviable  frame  of  mind.  He  had  counselled  Morton  for  his 
own  benefit — he  himself  had  no  selfish  considerations.  He 
flattered  himself  that  the  relation  in  which  he  stood  to  the  par- 
ties between  which  the  country  was  divided,  not  to  speak  of  his 
mutilated  condition,  would  secure  him  from  danger,  no  matter 
which  of  them  should  finally  obtain  the  ascendency.  That  he 
should  be  still  held  responsible  to  his  late  comrades,  though  he 
no  longer  engaged  in  their  pursuits  and  no  longer  shared  their 
spoils,  was  a  medium  equally  new  and  disquieting  through  which 
he  was  required  to  regard  the  subject.  The  stern  threat  with 
which  Morton  concluded,  left  him  in  little  doubt  of  the  uncertain 
tenure  of  that  security  which  he  calculated  to  find  among  his 
old  friends ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  awakened  in  his  heart  some 
new  and  rather  bitter  feelings  in  reference  to  the  speaker. 
Hitherto,  from  old  affinities,  and  because  of  some  one  of  those 
nameless  moral  attachments  which  incline  us  favorably  to  indi- 
viduals to  whom  we  otherwise  owe  nothing,  he  had  been  as  well 
disposed  toward  Edward  Morton  as  he  could  be  toward  any 
individual  not  absolutely  bound  to  him  by  blood  or  interest. 
He  had  seen  enough  to  like  in  him,  to  make  him  solicitous  of 
his  successes,  and  to  lead  him  in  repeated  instances,  as  in  that 
which  incurred  the  late  rebuke,  to  volunteer  his  suggestions,  and 
to  take  some  pains  in  acquiring  information  which  sometimes 


NEW  PRINCIPLES    DISCUSSED    BY   OLD   LAWS.  135 

proved  of  essential  benefit  to  the  outlaw.  It  was  partly  in  con- 
sequence of  this  interest,  that  he  acquired  that  knowledge  of 
the  private  concerns  of  Morton  which  prompted  the  latter,  nat- 
urally enough,  to  confer  with  him,  with  tolerable  freedom,  on  a 
number  of  topics  strictly  personal  to  himself,  and  of  which  the 
troop  knew  nothing.  Conscious  of  no  other  motive  than  the 
good  of  the  outlaw;  and  not  dreaming  of  that  profounder  cun- 
ning of  the  latter,  which  could  resolve  him  to  adopt  the  counsel 
which  he  yet  seemed  to  spurn  with  loathing-,  the  landlord, 
reasonably  enough,  felt  indignant  at  the  language  with  which 
he  had  been  addressed ;  and  his  indignation  was  not  lessened 
by  the  disquieting  doubts  of  his  own  safety  which  the  threats 
of  Morton  had  suggested.  It  was  just  at  the  moment  when  his 
conclusions  were  most  unfavorable  to  the  outlaw,  that  the  door 
of  his  wigwam  was  quietly  thrown  open,  and  he  beheld,  with 
some  surprise,  the  unexpected  face  of  OUT  worthy  scout,  Jack 
Bannister,  peering  in  upon  him.  Th,e  latter  needed  no  invita- 
tion to  enter. 

"  Well,  Isaac  Muggs,"  said  he,  as  he  closed  and  bolted  the 
door  behind  him,  "you're  without  your  company  at  last.  I 
was  a'most  afear'd,  for  your  sake  in  pretic'lar,  that  them  bloody 
sculpers  was  a-going  to  take  up  lodging  with  you  for  good  and 
all.  I  waited  a  pretty  smart  chance  to  see  you  cl'ar  of  them, 
and  I  only  wish  I  was  sartin,  Muggs,  that  you  was  as  glad  as 
myself  when  they  concluded  to  make  a  start  of  it." 

"Ahem! — To  be  sure  I  was,  friend  Supple,"  replied  the 
other  with  an  extra  show  of  satisfaction  in  his  countenance 
which  did  not  altogether  conceal  the  evident  hesitation  of  his 
first  utterance.  —  "To  be  sure  I  was;  they'd  ha'  drunk  me  out 
of  house  and  home  if  they  had  stopped  much  longer.  A  kag 
of  lemons  a'most — more  than  two  kags  of  sugar,  best  Havana — 
and  there's  no  measuring  the  Jamaica,  wasted  upon  them  long 
swallows.  Ef  I  a'n't  glad  of  their  going,  Jack,  I  have  a  most 
onnateral  way  of  thinking  on  sich  matters." 

The  keen  eyes  of  Supple  Jack  never  once  turned  from  the 
countenance  of  the  landlord,  as  he  detailed  the  evils  of  con- 
sumption among  his  guests ;  and  when  the  latter  had  finished, 
he  coolly  replied  :  — 


136  THE  SCOUT. 

"  I'm  afear'd,  Isaac  Muggs,  you  ain't  showing  clean  hands 
above  the  table.  That's  a  sort  of  talking  that  don't  blind  my 
eyes,  even  ef  it  stops  my  ears.  Don't  I  know  it  would  be 
mighty  onnateral  if  you  wa'n't  glad  enough  to  sell  your  kags  of 
lemons,  and  your  kags  of  sugar,  and  your  gallons  of  rum,  pre- 
tic'larly  when,  in  place  of  them,  you  can  count  me  twenty  times 
their  valley  in  British  gould  ?  No,  Muggs,  that  sort  o'  talking 
won't  do  for  me.  Take  the  cross  out  of  your  tongue  and  be 
pretic'lar  in  what  you  say,  for  I'm  going  to  s'arch  you  mighty 
close  this  time,  I  tell  you." 

"  Well  but,  Supple,  you  wouldn't  have  me  take  nothing  from 
them  that  drinks  and  eats  up  my  substance  V 

"Who  talks  any  sich  foolishness  but  yourself,  Muggs?  —  / 
don't.  I'm  for  your  taking  all  you  can  get  out  of  the  inimy ; 
for  it's  two  ways  of  distressing  'em,  to  sell  'em  strong  drink  and 
take  their  gould  for  it.  The  man  that  drinks  punch  is  always 
the  worse  for  it ;  and  it  don't  better  his  business  to  make  him 
pay  for  it-  in  guineas.  That's  not  my  meaning,  Muggs.  I'm 
on  another  track,  and  I'll  show  you  both  eends  of  it  before  I'm 
done." 

"  Why,  Supple,  you  talks  and  looks  at  me  suspiciously,"  said 
the  landlord,  unable  to  withstand  the  keen,  inquiring  glances  of 
the  scout,  and  almost  as  little  able  to  conceal  his  apprehensions 
lest  some  serious  discovery  had  been  made  to  his  detriment. 

"  Look  you,  Isaac  Muggs,  do  you  see  that  peep-hole  there 
in  the  wall  ? — oh,  thar !  jest  one  side  of  the  window — the  peep- 
hole in  the  logs." 

"  Yes,  I  see  it,"  said  the  landlord,  whose  busy  fingers  were 
already  engaged  in  thrusting  a  wadding  of  dry  moss  into  the 
discovered  aperture. 

"  Well,  it's  too  late  to  poke  at  it  now,  Muggs,"  said  the  other. 
"  The  harm's  done  a'ready,  and  I'll  let  you  know  the  worst  of 
it.  Through  that  peep-hole,  last  night,  I  saw  what  was  a-going 
on  here  among  you ;  and  through  that  peep-hole,  it  was  this 
same  Polly  Longlips" — tapping  his  rifle  as  he  spoke  —  "that 
went  off  of  her  own  liking,  and  tumbled  one  big  fellow ;  and 
was  mighty  vexatious,  now,  when  she  found  herself  enable  to 
tumble  another." 


NEW   PRINCIPLES   DISCUSSED    BY  OLD   LAWS.  137 

"Yes,  yes — Polly  Longlips  was  always  a  famous  talker," 
murmured  the  landlord  flatteringly,  and  moving  to  take  in  his 
remaining  hand  the  object  of  his  eulogium.  But  Supple  Jack 
evidently  recoiled  at  so  doubtful  a  liberty  in  such  dangerous 
times,  and  drew  the  instrument  more  completely  within  the 
control  of  his  own  arm. 

"She's  a  good  critter,  Muggs,  but  is  sort  o' bashful  among 
strangers  ;  and  when  she  puts  up  her  mouth,  it  ain't  to  be  kissed 
or  to  kiss,  I  tell  you.  She's  not  like  other  gals  in  that  pre- 
tic'lar.  Now,  don't  think  I  mistrust  you,  Muggs,  for  'twould  be 
mighty  timorsome  was  I  to  be  afeard  of  anything  you  could  do 
with  a  rifle  like  her,  having  but  one  arm  to  go  upon.  It's  only 
a  jealous  way  I  have,  that  makes  me  like  to  keep  my  Polly  out 
of  the  arms  of  any  other  man.  It's  nateral  enough,  you  know, 
to  a  person  that  loves  his  gal." 

"  Oh  yes,  very  nateral,  Supple  ;  but  somehow,  it  seems  to  me 
as  if  you  did  suspicion  me,  Supple — it  does,  I  declar'." 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,"  replied  ^e  other,  promptly.  "  I  suspi- 
cions you've  been  making  a  little  bit  of  a  fool  of  yourself;  and 
I've  coine  to  show  you  which  eend  of  the  road  will  bring  you 
up.  You  know,  Muggs,  that  I  know  all  about  you — from  A 
to  izzard.  I  can  read  you  like  a  book.  I  reckon  you'll  allow 
that  I  have  larn'd  that  lesson,  if  I  never  larn'd  any  other." 

"  Well,  Supple,  I  reckon  I  may  say  you  know  me  pretty 
much  as  well  as  any  other  person." 

"  Better — better,  Muggs  !  —  I  know  you  from  the  jump  ;  and 
I  know  what  none  of  our  boys  know,  that  you  did  once  ride 
with  these  Black — " 

"Yes,  Supple,  but — "  and  the  landlord  jumped  up  and  looked 
out  of  the  door,  and  peered,  with  all  his 'eyes,  as  far  as  possible 
into  the  surrounding  wood.  The  scout,  meanwhile,  with  imper- 
turbable composure,  retained  the  seat  which  he  had  originally 
taken. 

"  Don't  you  be  scarey,"  said  he,  when  the  other  had  returned, 
"I've  sarcumvented  your  whole  establishment — looked  in  at 
both  of  your  blocks,  and  all  of  your  cypress  hollows,  not  to 
speak  of  a  small  ride  I  took  after  your  friends — " 

"  No  friends  of  mine,  Supple,  no  more  than  any  other  people 


138  W^.  THE  SCOUT. 

that  pay  for  what  they  git,"  exclaimed  the  apprehensive  land- 
lord. 

"  That's  the  very  p'int  I'm  driving  at,  Muggs.  You  know 
well  enough  that  if  our  boys  had  a  guess  that  you  ever  rode 
with  that  'ere  troop,  it  wouldn't  be  your  stump  of  an  arm  that  'd 
save  you  from  the  swinging  limb." 

"  But  I  never  did  hide  that  I  fou't  on  the  British  side,  Sup- 
ple !"  said  the  other. 

"  In  the  West  Indies,  Isaac  Muggs.  That's  the  story  you 
told  about  your  hurts,  and  all  that.  If  you  was  to  tell  them,  or 
if  I  was  to  tell  them,  any  other  story  now,  that  had  the  least 
smell  of  the  truth  in  it,  your  shop  would  be  shut  up  for  ever  in 
this  life,  and — -who  knows  ?— maybe  never  opened  in  the  next. 
Well,  now,  I'm  come  here  this  blessed  day  to  convart  you  to 
rebellion.  Through  that  very  peep-hole,  last  night,  I  heard 
you,  with  my  own  ears,  talking  jest  as  free  as  the  rankest  tory 
in  all  the  Wateree  country." 

"  Oh,  Lord,  Supple,  wa'n't^that  nateral  enough,  when  the 
house  wor  full  of  tories  ?" 

"  'Twa'n't  nateral  to  an  honest  man  at  any  time,"  replied  the 
other  indignantly ;  "  and  let  me  tell  you,  Muggs,  the  house 
wa'n't  full — only  Ned  Oonway  was  here,  with  his  slippery 
tongue  that's  a  wheedling  you,  like  a  blasted  blind  booby, 
Muggs,  to  your  own  destruction.  That  same  fellow  will  put 
your  neck  in  the  noose  yet,  and  laugh  when  you're  going  up." 

A  prediction  so  confidently  spoken,  and  which  tallied  so  ad- 
mirably with  the  savage  threat  uttered  by  the  outlaw  at  his  late 
departure,  drove  the  blood  from  the  cheeks  of  the  landlord,  and 
made  him  heedless  of  the  harsh  language  in  which  the  scout 
had  expressed  himself.  His  apology  was  thus  expressed  :  — 

"  But  'twas  pretty  much  the  same  thing,  Supple — he  was 
their  cappin,  you  know." 

"  Cappin  !  And  what  does  he  care  about  them,  and  what  do 
they  care  about  him,  if  they  can  get  their  eends  sarved  without 
each  other "?  It  wouldn't  be  a  toss  of  a  copper,  the  love  that's 
atween  them.  He'll  let  them  hang,  and  they'll  hang  him,  as 
soon  as  it's  worth  while  for  either  to  do  so.  Don't  I  know, 
Muggs  ?  Don't  I  know  that  they're  conniving  strong  agin  him 


NEW  PRINCIPLES  DISCUSSED  BY  OLD*  LAWS.  139 

even  now,  and  don't  I  calkilate  that  as  soon  as  the  Congaree 
country  gits  too  hot  to  hold  Rawdon,  this  Ned  Conway  will  be 
the  first  to  kill  a  colt  to  'scape  a  halter  ?  He'll  ride  a  horse  to 
death  to  get  to  Charleston,  and  when  there,  he'll  sink  a  ship  to 
git  to  the  West  Indies.  He  knows  his  game,  and  he'll  so  work 
it,  Isaac  Muggs,  as  to  leave  your  neck  in  the  collar  without 
waiting  to  hear  the  crack." 

"  You're  clean  mistaken,  Supple,  for  'twas  only  this  morning 
that  I  cautioned  the  captain  'bout  his  men,  and  I  gin  him  my 
counsel  to  take  the  back  track  and  find  his  way  to  the  seaboard  ; 
but  he  swore  he'd  never  desart  the  troop,  and  he  spoke  mighty 
cross  to  me  about  it,  and  even  threatened,  if  I  talked  of  it  an- 
other time  to  him,  to  set  the  troopers  on  me." 

"  More  knave  he,  and  more  fool  you  for  your  pains,"  said  the 
other  irreverently ;  "  but  this  only  makes  me  the  more  sartin 
that  he  means  to  finish  a  bad  game  by  throwing  up  his  hand. 
He's  made  his  Jack,  and  he  don't  stop  to  count.  But  look 
you,  Isaac  Muggs,  all  this  tells  agin  you.  Here,  you're  so 
thick,  hand  and  glove,  with  the  chief  of  the  Black  Eiders,  that 
you're  advising  him  what  to  do ;  and  by  your  own  words,  he 
makes  out  that  you're  still  liable  to  the  laws  of  the  troop.  Eh  ? 
what  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"  But  that's  only  what  he  said,  Supple,  and  it's  what  was 
a-worrying  me  when  you  come  in." 

"  Look  you,  Muggs,  it  ought  to  worry  you  !  I'm  mighty  se- 
rious in  this  business.  I'm  going  to  be  mighty  strick  with  you. 
I  was  the  one  that  spoke  for  you  among  our  boys,  and  'twas 
only  because  I  showed  them  that  I  had  sort  o'  convarted  you 
from  your  evil  ways,  that  they  agreed  to  let  you  stay  here  in 
quiet  on  the  Wateree.  Well,  I  thought  I  had  convarted  you. 
You  remember  that  long  summer  day  last  August,  when  Polly 
Longlips  gin  a  bowel-complaint  to  Macleod,  the  Scotch  officer. 
You  was  with  him  in  the  boat,  and  helped  to  put  him  across 
the  Wateree.  Well,  when  we  was  a-burying  him — for  he  died 
like  a  gentleman  bred — I  had  a  call  to  ax  you  sartin  questions, 
and  we  had  a  long  argyment  about  our  liberties,  and  George  the 
Third,  and  what  business  Parlyment  had  to  block  up  Boston 
harbor,  and  put  stamps  on  our  tea  before  they  let  us  drink  it. 


140  THE  SCOUT. 

Do  you  remember  all  them  matters  and  specifications,  Isaac 
Muggs?" 

"  Well,  Supple,  I  can't  but  say  I  do.  We  did  have  quite  a 
long  argyment  when  the  lieutenant  was  a  dying,  and  jest  after 
the  burial." 

"  No,  'twas  all  the  while  we  was  a-laying  in  the  trench ;  for 
I  recollect  saying  to  you,  when  you  was  a  pitying  him  all  the 
time,  that,  ef  I  was  sorry  for  the  poor  man's  death,  I  wasn't 
sorry  that  I  killed  him,  and  I  would  shoot  the  very  next  one 
that  come  along,  jest  the  same  j  for  it  made  the  gall  bile  up  in 
me  to  see  a  man  that  I  had  never  said  a  hard  word  to  in  all  my 
life,  come  here,  over  the  water,  a  matter,  maybe,  of  a  thousand 
miles,  to  force  me,  at  the  p'int  of  the  bagnet,  to  drink  stamped 
tea.  I  never  did  drink  the  tea,  no  how.  For  my  own  drinking, 
I  wouldn't  give  one  cup  of  coffee,  well  biled,  for  all  the  tea  that 
was  ever  growed  or  planted.  But,  'twas  the  freedom  of  the 
thing  that  I  was  argying  for,  and  'twas  on  the  same  argyment 
that  I  was  willing  to  fight.  Now  that  was  the  time,  and  them 
was  the  specifications  which  made  us  argyfy,  and  it  was  only 
then,  when  I  thought  I  had  convarted  you  from  your  evil  ways, 
that  I  tuk  on  me  to  answer  for  your  good  conduct  to  our  boys. 
I  spoke  to  the  colonel  for  you,  jest  the  same  as  ef  I  had  kncw'd 
you  for  a  hundred  years.  It's  true  I  did  know  you,  and  the 
mother  that  bore  you,  and  a  mighty  good  sort  of  woman  she 
was ;  but  it  was  only  after  that  argyment  that  I  felt  a  call  to 
speak  in  your  behalf.  Now,  Isaac  Muggs,  I  ain't  conscience- 
free  about  that  business.  I've  had  my  suspicions  a  long  time 
that  I  spoke  a  leetle  too  much  in  your  favor ;  and  what  I  heard 
last  night — and  what  I  seed — makes  me  dub'ous  that  you've 
been  a  sort  o'  snake  in  the  grass.  I  doubt  your  convarsion, 
Isaac  Muggs  ;  but  before  I  tell  you  my  mind  about  the  business, 
I'd  jest  like  to  hear  from  your  own  lips  what  you  think  about 
our  argyment,  and  what  you  remember,  and  what  you  be- 
lieve." 

The  landlord  looked  utterly  bewildered.  It  was  evident  that 
he  had  never  devoted  much  time  to  metaphysics ;  and  the  con- 
fusion and  disorder  of  the  few  words  which  he  employed  in  an- 
swer, and  the  utter  consternation  of  his  looks,  amply  assured  the 


NEW   PRINCIPLES   DISCUSSED   BY   OLD   LAWS.  141 

inflexible  scout  that  the  labor  of  conversion  must  be  entirely- 
gone  over  again. 

"  I  see,  Isaac  Muggs,  that  you're  in  a  mighty  bad  fix,  and  it's 
a  question  with  me  whether  I  ought  raly  to  give  you  a  helping 
hand  to  git  out  of  it.  Ef  I  thought  you  wanted  to  git  at  the 
truth—"  i 

"  Well,  Supple,  as  God's  my  judge,  I  sartinly  do." 

"  I'd  go  over  the  argyment  agin  for  your  sake,  but — ' 

"  I'd  thank  you  mightily,  Supple." 

"  But  'twon't  do  to  go  on  forgetting,  Muggs.  The  thing  is  to 
be  onderstood,  and  if  it's  once  onderstoood,  it's  to  be  believed ; 
and  when  you  say  you  believe,  there's  no  dodging  after  that. 
There's  no  saying  you're  a  tory  with  tories,  and  a  whig  with 
whigs,  jest  as  it  seems  needful.  The  time's  come  for  every  tub 
to  stand  on  its  own  bottom,  and  them  that  don't  must  have  a 
turn— inside  out!  Now,  there's  no  axing  you  to  fight  for  us, 
Muggs — that's  out  of  natur'  —  and  I'm  thinking  we  have  more 
men  now  than  we  can  feed ;  but  we  want  the  truth  in  your  soul, 
and  we  want  you  to  stick  to  it.  Ef  you're  ready  for  that,  and 
raly  willing,  I'll  put  it  to  you  in  plain  argyments  that  you  can't 
miss,  onless  you  want  to  miss  'em  ;  and  you'll  never  dodge  from 
'em,  if  you  have  only  half  a  good-sized  man's  soul  in  you  to 
go  upon.  You've  only  to  say  now,  whether  you'd  like  to 
know — " 

The  landlord  cut  short  the  speaker  by  declaring  his  anxiety 
to  be  re-enlightened,  and  Supple  Jack  rose  to  his  task  with  all 
the  calm  deliberation  of  a  practised  lecturer.  Coiling  up  a  huge 
quid  of  tobacco  in  one  jaw,  to  prevent  its  interfering  with  the 
argument,  he  went  to  the  door. 

"I'll  jest  go  out  for  a  bit  and  hitch  *  Mossfoot,'  " — the  name 
conferred  upon  his  pony,  as  every  good  hunter  has  a  tender  di- 
minutive for  the  horse  he  rides  and  the  gun  he  shoots — "  I'll 
only  go  and  hitch  '  Mossfoot'  deeper  in  the  swamp,  and  out  of 
harm's  way  for  a  spell,  and  then  be  back.  It's  aJthree  minutes' 
business  only." 

He  was  not  long  gone,  but,  during  that  time,  rapid  transitions 
of  thought  and  purpose  were  passing  through  the  mind  of  the 
veteran  landlord.  Circumstances  had  already  prepared  him  to 


142  THE   SCOUT. 

recognise  the  force  of  many  of  the  scout's  arguments.  The 
very  counsel  he  had  given  to  Edward  Morton  originated  in  a 
conviction  that  the  British  cause  was  going  down — that  the 
whigs  were  gaining  ground  upon  the  tories  with  every  day's 
movement,  and  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  the  latter  much 
longer  to  maintain  themselves.  The  policy  of  the  publican  usu- 
ally goes  with  that  of  the  rising  party.  He  is  not  generally  a 
bad  political  thermometer,  and  Muggs  was  a  really  good  one. 
Besides,  he  had  been  stung  by  the  contemptuous  rejection  of  his 
counsel  by  the  chief  whom  he  was  conscious  of  having  served 
unselfishly,  and  alarmed  by  the  threats  which  had  followed  his 
uncalled-for  counsel. 

The  necessity  of  confirming  his  friends  among  the  successful 
rebels  grew  singularly  obvious  to  his  intellect,  if  it  had  not  been 
so  before,  in  the  brief  absence  of  the  scout ;  and  when  he  re- 
turned, the  rapidly  quickening  intelligence  of  the  worthy  land- 
lord made  the  eyes  of  the  former  brighten  with  the  satisfaction 
which  a  teacher  must  naturally  feel  at  the  wonderful  progress 
and  ready  recognition  of  his  doctrines. 

These,  it  will  not  be  necessary  for  us  entirely,  or  even  in 
part,  to  follow.  The  worthy  woodman  has  already  given  us  a 
sufficient  sample  of  the  sort  of  philosophy  in  which  he  dealt ; 
and  farther  argument  on  the  tyranny  of  forcing  "  stamped  tea" 
•^r*  down  the  people's  throats,  "  will  they,  nill  they,"  may  surely 
be  dispensed  with.  But,  flattering  as  his  success  appeared  to 
be  at  first,  Supple  Jack  was  soon  annoyed  by  some  doubts  and 
difficulties  which  his  convert  suggested  in  the  progress  of  the 
argument.  Like  too  many  of  his  neighbors,  Isaac  Muggs  was 
largely  endowed  with  the  combative  quality  of  self-esteem. 
This,  as  the  discussion  advanced,  was  goaded  into  exercise ; 
and  his  fears  and  his  policy  were  equally  forgotten  in  the  desire 
of  present  triumph.  A  specimen  of  the  manner  in  which  their 
deliberations  warmed  into  controversy  may  be  passingly  af- 
forded. 

"  It's  agin  natur'  and  reason,  and  a  man's  own  seven  senses," 
said  Supple  Jack,  "  to  reckon  on  any  man's  right  to  make  laws 
for  another,  when  he  don't  live  in  the  same  country  with  him. 
I  say,  King  George,  living  in  England,  never  had  a  right  to 


NEW   PRINCIPLES   DISCUSSED   BY   OLD    LAWS.  143 

make  John  Bannister,  living  on  the  Congaree,  pay  him  taxes  for 
tea  or  anything." 

"  But  it's  all  the  same  country,  England  and  America,  Jack 
Bannister." 

"  Jimini! — if  that's  the  how,  what  makes  you  give  'em  dif- 
ferent names,  I  want  to  know  1" 

"  Oh,  that  was  only  because  it  happened  so,"  said  the  land- 
lord, doubtfully. 

"  Well,  it  so  happens  that  I  won't  pay  George  the  Third  any 
more  taxes.  That's  the  word  for  all ;  and  it's  good  reason  why 
I  shouldn't  pay  him,  when,  for  all  his  trying,  he  can't  make  me. 
Here  he's  sent  his  rigiments — rigiment  after  rigiment — and  the 
queen  sent  her  rigiment,  and  the  prince  of  Wales  his  rigiment 
—  I  reckon  we  didn't  tear  the  prince's  rigiment  all  to  flinders  at 
Hanging  Rock! — Well,  then,  there  was  the  Royal  Scotch  and 
the  Royal  Irish,  and  the  Dutch  Hessians; — I  suppose  they 
didn't  call  them  royal,  'cause  they  couldn't  ax  in  English  for 
what  they  wanted  : — well,  what  was  the  good  of  it  1  —  all  these 
rigiments  together,  couldn't  make  poor  Jack  Bannister,  a  Con- 
garee bdatmen,  drink  stamped  tea  or  pay  taxes.  The  rigiments, 
all  I've  named,  and  a  hundred  more,  are  gone  like  last  autumn's 
dry  leaves ;  and  the  only  fighting  that's  a-going  on  now,  worth 
to  speak  of,  is  American  born  'gainst  American  born.  Wateree 
facing  Wateree  —  Congaree  facing  Congaree — Santee  facing 
Santee —  and  cutting  each  other's  throats  to  fill  the  pockets  of 
one  of  the  ugliest  old  men — for  a  white  man — that  ever  I 
looked  on.  It  spiles  the  face  of  a  guinea  where  they  put  his 
face.  Look  you,  Isaac  Muggs,  I  would  ha'  gathered  you,  as 
Holy  Book  says  it,  even  as  a  hen  gathers  up  her  chickens.  I'd 
ha'  taken  you  'twixt  my  legs  in  time  of  danger,  and  seed  you 
safe  through — but  you  wouldn't !  I've  tried  to  drive  reason 
into  your  head,  but  it's  no  use ;  you  can't  see  what's  right,  and 
where  to  look  for  it.  You  answer  everything  I  say  with  your 
eyes  sot,  and  a  cross-buttock.  Now,  what's  to  be  done  ?  I'm 
waiting  on  you  to  answer." 

"  Swounds,  Supple,  but  you're  grown  a  mighty  hasty  man  o' 
late,"  replied  the  landlord,  beginning  to  be  sensible  of  the  im- 
prudence of  indulging  his  vanity  at  a  moment  so  perilous  to  his 


144  .  THE  SCOUT. 

fortune.  "  I'm  sure  I've  tried  my  best  to  see  the  right  and  the 
reason.  I've  hearn  what  you  had  to  say " 

"  Only  to  git  some  d — d  crooked  answer  ready,  that  had  jist 
as  much  to  do  with  the  matter  as  my  great  grand-daughter  has. 
You  hearn  me,  but  it  wa'n't  to  see  if  the  truth  was  in  me ;  it 
was  only  to  see  if  you  couldn't  say  something  after  me  that 
would  swallow  up  my  saying.  I  don't  see  how  you're  ever  to 
get  wisdom,  with  such  an  understanding,  unless  it's  licked  into 
you  by  main  force  of  tooth  and  timber." 

"  I  could  ha'  fou't  you  once,  John  Bannister,  though  you  are 
named  Supple  Jack,"  replied  the  landlord  with  an  air  of  indig- 
nant reproach,  which,  in  his  own  self-absorption,  escaped  the 
notice  of  the  scout. 

"  It's  no  bad  notion  that,"  he  continued,  without  heeding  the 
language  of  the  landlord.  "  Many's  the  time,  boy  and  man,  I 
have  fou't  with  a  fellow  when  we  couldn't  find  out  the  right  of  it, 
any  way ;  and,  as  sure  as  a  gun,  if  I  wan't  right  I  was  sartain 
to  be  licked.  Besides,  Isaac  Muggs,  it  usen  to  be  an  old  law, 
when  they  couldn't  get  at  the  truth  any  other  way,  to  make  a 
battle,  and  cry  on  God's  mercy  to  help  the  cause  that  was  right. 
By  Jimini,  I  don't  see  no  other  way  for  us.  I've  given  you  all 
the  reason  I  know  on  this  subject — all  that  I  can  onderstand,  I 
mean — for  to  confess  a  truth,  there's  a-many  reasons  for  our 
liberties  that  I  hear  spoken,  and  I  not  able  to  make  out  the 
sense  of  one  of  them.  But  all  that  I  know  I've  told  you,  and 
there's  more  than  enough  to  make  me  sartin  of  the  side  I  take. 
Now,  as  you  ain't  satisfied  with  any  of  my  reasons,  I  don't  see 
how  we're  to  finish  the  business  onless  we  go  back  to  the  old- 
time  law,  and  strip  to  the  buff  for  a  fight.  You  used  to  brag  of 
yourself,  and  you  know  what  I  am,  so  there's  no  use  to  ax  about 
size  and  weight.  If  you  speak  agreeable  to  your  conscience, 
'and  want  nothing  better  than  the  truth,  then,  I  don't  see  but  a 
rigilar  fight  will  give  it  to  us ;  for,  as  I  told  you  afore,  I  never 
yet  did  fight  on  the  wrong  side,  that  I  didn't  come  up  onder- 
most." 

The  scout,  in  the  earnestness  with  which  he  entertained  and 
expressed  his  own  views  and  wishes,  did  not  suffer  himself  to 
perceive  some  of  the  obstacles  which  lay  in  the  way  of  a  trans- 


NEW   PRINCIPLES  DISCUSSED   BY   OLD   LAWS.  145 

action  such  as  he  so  deliberately  and  seriously  proposed.  He 
was  equally  inaccessible  to  the  several  attempts  of  his  companion 
to  lessen  his  regards  for  a  project,  to  which  the  deficiency  of  a 
limb,  on  the  part  of  one  of  the  disputants,  seemed  to  suggest  a 
most  conclusive  objection.  When,  at  length,  he  came  to  a 
pause,  the  landlord  repeated  his  former  reproachful  reminiscence 
of  a  period  when  the  challenge  of  the  scout  would  not  have 
gone  unanswered  by  defiance. 

"  But  now  !"  and  he  lifted  the  stump  of  his  remaining  arm,  in 
melancholy  answer. 

"  It's  well  for  you  to  talk  big,  John  Bannister ;  I  know 
you're  a  strong  man,  and  a  spry.  You  wa'n't  called  Supple 
Jack  for  nothing.  But  there  was  a  time  when  Isaac  Muggs 
wouldn't  ha'  stopped  to  measure  inches  with  you  in  a  fair  up  and 
down,  hip  and  hip,  hug  together.  I  could  ha'  thrown  you  once, 
I'm  certain.  But  what's  the  chance  now  with  my  one  arm,  in 
a  hug  with  a  man  that's  got  two  ?  It's  true,  and  I  believe  it, 
that  God  gives  strength  in  a  good  cause;  but  it's  'quite  onrea- 
sonable  for  me  to  hope  for  any  help,  seeing  as  how  I  can't  help 
myself,  no  how.  I  couldn't  even  come  to  the  grip,  however 
much  I  wanted  to," 

"  Sure  enough,  Muggs,  and  I  didn't  think  of  that,  at  all.  It 
was  so  natural  to  think  that  a  man  that  let  his  tongue  wag  so 
free  as  your'n  had  two  arms  at  least  to  back  it.  I'm  mighty 
sorry,  Muggs,  that  you  ain't,  for  it's  a  great  disapp'intment." 

This  was  spoken  with  all  the  chagrin  of  a  man  who  was  dis- 
comfited in  his  very  last  hope  of  triumph. 

"  Well,  you  see  I  ain't,"  said  the  other,  sulkily  •  "  so  there's 
no  more  to  be  said  about  it." 

"  Yes ;  but  you  ain't  come  to  a  right  mind  yit.  It's  cl'ar  to 
me,  Isaac  Muggs,  that  one  thing  or  t'other  must  be  done.  You 
must  cut  loose  from  the  Black  Riders,  or  cut  loose  from  us. 
You  knows  the  resk  of  the  one,  and  I  can  pretty  much  tell  you 
what's  the  resk  of  the  other.  Now,  there's  a  notion  hits  me, 
and  it's  one  that  comes  nateral  enough  to  a  man  that's  fou't,  in 
his  time,  in  a  hundred  different  ways.  One  of  them  ways,  when 
I  had  to  deal  with  a  fellow  that  was  so  cl'ar  behind  me  in 
strength  that  he  couldn't  match  me  as  we  stood,  was  to  tie  a 

7 


146  THE   SCOUT. 

hand  behind  my  back,  or  a  leg  to  a  pine  sapling,  and  make  my- 
self, as  it  wor,  a  lame  man  till  the  fight  was  over.  Now,  look 
you,  Muggs,  if  it's  the  truth  your  really  after,  I  don't  care  much 
if  I  try  that  old-fashion  way  with  you.  I'm  willing  to  buckle 
my  right  arm  to  my  back." 

"  Swounds,  Supple,  how  you  talk !  Come,  take  a  drink." 
"  I'll  drink  when  the  time  comes,  Isaac  Muggs,  and  when  it's 
needful ;  but  jest  now,  when  it's  the  truth  I'm  after,  I  don't  suf- 
fer no  divarsions.  I  stick  as  close  to  it,  I  tell  you,  as  I  does  to 
my  inimy.  I  don't  stop  to  drink  or  rest  till  it's  a-lying  fair  be- 
fore me.  Now,  it's  needful  for  your  sake,  Muggs,  that  you  come 
to  a  right  sense  of  the  reason  in  this  business.  It's  needful  that 
you  give  up  Black  Riders,  tories,  British,  Ned  Conway,  ugly 
faces,  and  the  old  sarpent.  My  conscience  is  mightily  troubled 
becaise  I  stood  for  you,  and  it's  needful  that  you  come  to  a  right 
onderstanding  afore  I  leave  you.  I've  sworn  it,  Isaac  Muggs, 
by  Polly  Longlips,  as  we  rode  along  together,  and  Mossfoot 
pricked  up  his  ears  as  if  he  onderstood  it  all,  and  was  a  witness 
for  us  both.  Now,  you  know  what  an  oath  by  Polly  Longlips 
means,  Isaac.  It  means  death  to  the  inimy — sartin  death,  at 
any  reasonable  distance.  I  don't  want  your  life-,  man  ; — by  the 
hokey,  I  don't; — and  that's  why  I  want  to  put  the  reason  in 
you,  so  that  you  might  say  to  me  at  once  that  you're  done  with 
these  black  varmints,  for  ever.  They  can  do  you  no  good — 
they  can't  help  you  much  longer ;  and  the  time's  a-coming,  Isaac 
Muggs,  when  the  whigs  will  sweep  this  country,  along  the  Wate- 
ree,  and  the  Congaree,  and  Santee,  with  a  broom  of  fire,  and  wo 
to  the  skunk,  when  that  time  comes,  that  can't  get  clear  of  the 
brash — wo  to  the  'coon  that's  caught  sticking  in  his  hollow ! 
There's  no  reason  you  shouldn't  onderstand  the  liberty-cause, 
and  there's  every  reason  why  you  should.  But  as  you  can't 

onderstand  my  argyment " 

"  Well,  but  Supple,  you're  always  in  such  a  hurry  ! — " 
"  No  hurry — never  hurried  a  man  in  argyment  in  all  my  life; 
but  when  he's  so  tarnal  slow  to  onderstand — " 

"  That's  it,  Supple,  I'm  a  slow  man ;  but  I  begin  to  see  the 
sense  of  what  you  say." 

"  Well,  that's  something  like,  Muggs ;  but  a  good  gripe  about 


NEW   PRINCIPLES   DISCUSSED    BY   OLD   LAWS.  147 

the  ribs,  a  small  tug  upon  the  hips,  pretic'larly  if  we  ax  the  bles- 
sing of  Providence  upon  the  argyment,  will  be  about  as  good  a 
way  as  any  to  help  your  onderstanding  to  a  quicker  motion. 
It'll  put  your  slow  pace  into  a  smart  canter." 

"  Psho,  Supple !  you're  not  serious  in  thinking  that  there's 
anything  in  that  ?" 

"  Ain't  I,  then  1  By  gum,  you  don't  know  me,  Isaac  Muggs, 
if  you  think  as  you  say.  Now,  what's  to  bender  the  truth  from 
coming  out  in  a  fair  tug  between  us  1  Here  we  stand,  both  tall 
men,  most  like  in  height  and  breadth,  nigh  alike  in  strength  by 
most  people's  count ;  about  the  same  age,  and  pretty  much  the 
same  experience.  We've  had  our  tugs  and  tears,  both  of  us,  in 
every  way;  though,  to  be  sure,  you  got  the  worst  of  it,  so  far  as 
we  count  the  arm ;  but  as  I  tie  up  mine,  there's  no  difference. 
Now  I  say,  here  we  stand  on  the  banks  of  the  Wateree.  No- 
body sees  us  but  the  great  God  of  all,  that  sees  everything  in 
nater'.  He's  here,  the  Bible  says — he's  here,  and  thar,  and 
everywhar,  and  He  sees  everything  everywhar.  You  believe 
all  that,  don't  you,  Isaac  Muggs  ?  for  ef  you  don't  believe  that, 
why,  there's  no  use  in  talking  at 'all.  There's  an  eend  of  the 
question." 

The  landlord,  though  looking  no  little  mystified,  muttered 
assent ;  and  this  strange  teacher  of  a  new,  or,  rather,  reviver  of 
an  old  faith,  proceeded  with  accustomed  volubility  :  — 

"Well,  then,  here,  as  we  are,  we  call  upon  God,  and  tell 
him  how  we  stand.  Though,  to  be  sure,  as  he  knows  all,  the 
telling  wouldn't  be  such  a  needcessity.  But,  never  mind — we 
tell  him.  I  say  to  him,  Here's  Isaac  Muggs — it  ain't  easy  for 
him  to  onderstand  this  argyment,  and  unless  he  onderstands,  it's 
a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  him; — you  recollect,  Muggs,  about 
the  oath  I  tuk  on  Polly  Longlips.  He  wants  to  lam,  and  it's 
needful  to  make  a  sign  which  '11  come  home  to  his  onderstanding 
more  cl'arly  than  argyment  by  man's  word  of  mouth.  Now  then 
we  pray — and  you  must  kneel  to  it  beforehand,  Muggs.  I'll 
go  aside  under  one  tree,  and  do  you  take  another ;  and  we'll 
make  a  hearty  prayer  after  the  proper  sign.  If  the  Lord  says 
I'm  right,  why  you'll  know  it  mighty  soon  by  the  sprawl  I'll 
give  you ;  but  if  I'm  wrong,  the  tumble  will  be  the  other  way, 


148  THE   SCOUT. 

and  I'll  make  the  confession,  though  it'll  be  a  mighty  bitter 
needcessity,  I  tell  you.  But  I  ain't  afeard.  I'm  sartin  that  my 
argyment  for  our  rights  is  a  true  argyment,  and  I'll  say  my 
prayers  with  that  sort  of  sartinty,  that  it  would  do  your  heart 
good  if  you  could  only  feel  about  the  same  time." 

"  If  I  thought  you  was  serious,  Jack  Bannister ;  but  I'm 
jub'ous  about  it." 

"  Don't  be  jub'ous.  I'm  ser'ous  as  a  sarpent.  I  b'lieve  in 
God — I  b'lieve  he'll  justify  the  truth,  whenever  we  axes  him  in 
airnest  for  it !  My  old  mother — God  rest  her  bones  and  bless 
her  sperrit !  —  she's  told  me  of  more  than  twenty  people  that's 
tried  a  wrestle  for  the  truth.  There  was  one  man  in  partic'lar 
that  she  knows  in  Georgia :  his  name  was  Bostick.  He  used  to 
be  a  drummer  in  General  Oglethorpe's  Highland  regiment. 
Well,  another  man,  a  sodger  in  the  same  regiment,  made  an 
accusation  agin  Bostick  for  stealing  a  watch-coat,  and  the  sar- 
cumstances  went  mighty  strong  agin  Bostick.  But  he  stood  it 
out;  and  though  he  never  shot  a  rifle  in  his  life  before,  he 
staked  the  truth  and  his  honesty  on  a  shot ;  and,  by  the  hokey, 
though,  as  I  tell  you,  he  never  lifted  rifle  to  his  sight  before,  he 
put  the  bullet  clean  through  the  mouth  and  jaw  of  the  sodger, 
and  cut  off  a  small  slice  of  his  tongue,  which  was,  perhaps,  as 
good  a  judgment  agin  a  man  for  false  swearing  as  a  rifle-shot 
could  make.  Well,  'twa'n't  a  month  after  that  when  they  found 
it  was  an  Ingin  that  had  stole  the  coat,  and  so  Bostick  was 
shown  to  be  an  honest  man,  by  God's  blessing,  in  every  way." 

There  was  something  so  conclusive  on  the  subject  in  this,  and 
one  or  two  similar  anecdotes,  which  Supple  Jack  told,  and  which, 
having  heard  them  from  true  believers  in  his  youth,  had  led  to 
his  own  adoption  of  the  experiment,  that  the  landlord,  Muggs, 
offered  no  further  doubts  or  objections.  The  earnestness  of  his 
companion  became  contagious,  and,  with  far  less  enthusiasm  of 
character,  he  was  probably  not  unwilling — in  order  to  the 
proper  adoption  of  a  feeling  which  was  growing  momently  in 
favor  in  his  eyes — to  resort  to  the  wager  of  battle  as  an  easy 
mode  of  making  a  more  formal  declaration  in  behalf  of  the  domi- 
nant faction  of  the  state.  The  novelty  of  the  suggestion  had  its 
recommendation  also ;  and  but  few  words  more  were  wasted, 


THE  TRIAL  FOR  THE  TRUTH.  149 

before  the  two  went  forth  to  a  pleasant  and  shady  grass-plot, 
which  lay  some  two  hundred  yards  further  in  the  hollow  of  the 
wood,  in  order  that  the  test  so  solemnly  recommended,  on  such 
high  authority,  should  be  fairly  made  in  the  presence  of  that 
High  Judge  only,  whose  arbitrament,  without  intending  any 
irreverence,  was  so  earnestly  invoked  by  the  simple  woodman 
of  Congaree. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE  TRIAL  FOR  THE  TRUTH. 

'9* 

No  change  could  have  been  suddenly  greater  than  that  which 
was  produced  upon  the  countenance  and  conduct  of  John  Ban- 
nister, when  he-found  himself  successful  in  bringing  the  landlord 
to  the  desired  issue.  His  seriousness  was  all  discarded, — his 
intense  earnestness  of  air  and  tone,  and  a  manner  even  pla'yful 
and  sportive,  succeeded  to  that  which  had  been  so  stern  and 
sombre.  He  congratulated  Muggs  and  himself,  equally,  on  the 
strong  probability,  so  near  at  hand,  of  arriving  at  the  truth  by  a 
process  so  direct,  and  proceeded  to  make  his  arrangements  for 
the  conflict  with  all  the  buoyancy  of  a  boy  traversing  the  play- 
ground with  "  leap-frog"  and  "  hop  o'  my  thumb." 

The  landlord  did  not  betray  the  same  degree  of  eagerness, 
but  he  was  not  backward.  He  might  have  had  his  doubts  about 
the  issue,  for  Supple  Jack  had  a  fame  in  those  days  which 
spread  far  and  wide  along  the  three  contiguous  rivers.  Wher- 
ever a  pole-boat  had  made  its  way,  there  had  the  name  of  Jack 
Bannister  found  repeated  echoes.  But  Muggs  was  a  fearless 
man,  and  he  had,  besides,  a  very  tolerable  degree  of  self-assu- 
rance, which  led  him  to  form  his  own  expectations  and  hopes  of 
success.  If  he  had  any  scruples  at  all,  they  arose  rather  from 
his  Soubt,  whether  the  proposed  test  of  truth  would  be  a  fair 
one — a  doubt  which  seemed  very  fairly  overcome  in  his  mind, 
as  indeed  it  should  be  in  that  of  the  reader,  if  full  justice  is  done 


150  THE  SCOUT. 

to  the  final  argument  which  the  scout  addressed  to  his  adversary 
on  this  subject. 

"  There  never  was  a  quarrel  and  a  fight  yet  that  didn't  come 
out  of  a  wish  to  Parn  or  to  teach  the  truth.  What's  King 
George  a-fighting  us  for  this  very  moment  ?  Why,  to  make  us 
b'lieve  in  him.  If  he  licks  us,  why  we'll  believe  in  him ;  and 
if  we  licks  him,  'gad,  I'm  thinking  he'll  have  to  b'lieve  in  us. 
Aint  that  cl'ar,  Muggs?  So,  let's  fall  to — if  I  licks  you,  I 
reckon  you'll  know  where  to  look  for  the  truth  for  ever  after ; 
for  I'll  measure  your  back  on  it,  and  your  breast  under  it,  and 
you'll  feel  it  in  all  your  bones." 

The  ground  was  chosen — a  pleasant  area  beneath  a  shadow- 
ing grove  of  oaks,  covered  with  a  soft  greenward,  which  seemed 
to  lessen,  in  the  minds  of  the  combatants,  the  dangers  of  discom- 
fiture. But  when  the  parties  began  to  strip  for  the  conflict,  a 
little  difficulty  suggested  itself  which  had  not  before  disturbed 
the  thoughts  of  either.  How  was  the  superfluous  arm  of 
Supple  Jack  to  be  tied  up  1  Muggs  could  evidently  perform 
no  such  friendly  office ;  but  a  brief  pause  given  to  their  opera- 
tions enabled  the  scout  to  arrange  it  easily.  A  running  noose 
was  made  in  the  rope,  into  which  he  thrust  the  unnecessary 
member,  then  gave  the  end  of  the  line  to  his  opponent,  who 
contrived  to  draw  it  around  his  body,  and  bind  the  arm  securely 
to  his  side — an  operation  easily  understood  by  all  schoolboys 
who'  have  ever  been  compelled  to  exercise  their  wits  in  securing 
a  balance  of  power,  in  a  like  way,  among  ambitious  rivals. 

As  they  stood,  front  to  front  opposed,  the  broad  chest,  square 
shoulders,  voluminous  muscle,  and  manly  compass  of  the  two, 
naturally  secured  their  mutual  admiration.  Supple  Jack  could 
not  refrain  from  expressing  his  satisfaction. 

"  It's  a  pleasure,  Isaac  Muggs,  to  have  a  turn  with  a  man  of 
your  make.  I  ha'n't  seen  a  finer  buzzum  for  a  fight  this  many 
a  day.  I  think,  ef  anything,  you're  a  splinter  or  two  fuller 
across  the  breast  than  me; — it  may  be  fat,  and  ef  so,  it's  the 
worse  for  you ;  but  ef  it's  the  solid  grain  and  gristle,  then  it's 
only  the  worse  for  me.  It  makes  me  saddish  enough  when  I 
look  on  sich  a  buzzum  as  yourn,  to  think  that  youre  cut  off 
one  half  in  a  fair  allowance  of  arm.  But  I  don't  think  that'll 


THE   TRIAL   FOB  THE   TRUTH.  151 

work  agin  you  in  this  'bout,  for,  you  see,  you're  used  to  doing 
without  it,  and  making  up  in  a  double  use  of  t'other ;  and  I'm 
beginning  a'ready  to  feel  as  if  I  warn't  of  no  use  at  all  in  the 
best  part  of  my  body.  Let's  feel  o'  your  heft,  old  fellow." 

A  mutual  lift  being  taken,  they  prepared  to  take  hold  for 
the  grand  trial ;  aud  Supple  Jack  soon  discovered,  as  he  had 
suspected,  that  the  customary  disuse  of  the  arm  gave  to  his 
opponent  an  advantage  in  this  sort  of  conflict,  which,  taken  in 
connection  with  his  naturally  strong  build  of  frame,  rendered 
the  task  before  him  equally  serious  and  doubtful.  But,  with  a 
shake  of  the  head  as  he  made  this  acknowledgment,  he  laid  his 
chin  on  the  shoulder  of  the  landlord,  grasped  him  vigorously 
about  the  body ;  and  Muggs,  having  secured  a  similar  grasp, 
gave  him  the  word,  and  they  both  swung  round,  under  a  mutual 
impulse,  which,  had  there  been  any  curious  spectator  at  hand, 
would  have  left  him  very  doubtful,  for  a  long  time,  as  to  the 
••distinct  proprietorship  of  the  several  legs  which  so  rapidly 
chased  each  other  in  the  air. 

An  amateur  in  such  matters — a  professional  lover  of  the 
"  fancy" — would  make  a  ravishing  picture  of  this  conflict.  The 
alternations  of  seeming  success — the  hopes,  the  fears,  the  occa- 
sional elevations  of  the  one  party,  and  the  depressions  of  the 
other — the  horizontal  tendency  of  this  or  that  head  and  shoul- 
der— the  yielding  of  this  frame  and  the  staggering  of  that  leg, 
might,  under  the  pencil  of  a  master,  be  made  to  awaken  as 
many  sensibilities  in  the  spectator  as  did  ever  the  adroit  roguer- 
ies of  the  modern  Jack  Sheppard.  But  these  details  must  be 
left  to  artists  of  their  own — to  the  Cruikshankses ! — or  that 
more  popular,  if  less  worthy  fraternity,  the  "  Quiz,  "  Phiz," 
"  Biz,"  "  Tiz,"  &c.,  tribe  of  artists  in  Bow-street  tastes  and 
experiences,  who  do  the  visage  of  a  rascal  con  a?nore,  and  con- 
trive always  that  vice  shall  find  its  representation  in  ugliness. 
We  have  neither  the  tastes  nor  the  talents  which  are  needful 
to  such  artist,  and  shall  not  even  attempt,  by  mere  word-paint- 
ing, to  supply  our  deficiencies.  Enough  to  say,  that  our  com- 
batants struggled  with  rare  effort  and  no  small  share  of  dex- 
terity as  well  as  muscle.  Muggs  wjis  no  chicken,  as  Supple  Jack 
was  pleased  to  assure  him ;  and  the  latter  admitted  that  he 


152  THE  SCOUT. 

t     '  ' 

himself  was  a  tough  colt,  not  easy  to  be  put  upon  four  legs, 
when  his  natural  rights  demanded  only  two.  The  conflict  was 
protracted  till  both  parties  were  covered  with  perspiration.  The 
turf,  forming  a  ring  of  twenty  feet  round  or  more,  was  beaten 
smooth,  and  still  the  affair  was  undecided.  Neither  had  yet 
received  a  fall.  But  'Supple  Jack,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  began 
to  feel  that  the  argument  was  about  to  be  settled  in  favor  of 
right  principles. 

"  Your  breath's  coming  rether  quick  now,  Isaac  Muggs — I'm 
thinking  you'll  soon  be  convarted !  But  it's  a  mighty  strong 
devil  you  had  in  you,  and  I'm  afeard  he'll  make  my  ribs  ache 
for  a  week.  I'll  sprawl  him,  though,  I  warrant  you. 

"  Don't  be  too  sartin,  Jack,"  gasped  the  other. 

"Don't! — Why,  love  you,  Muggs,  you  couldn't  say  that 
short  speech  over  again  for  the  life  of  you." 

"  Couldn't  eh  !" 

"No,  not  for  King  George's-  axing/' 

"  Think  so,  eh  r 

"  Know  so,  man.  Now,  look  to  it.  I'll  only  ax  three  tugs 
more.  There — there's  one." 

"  Nothing  done,  Jack." 

"  Two — three  !  and  where  are  you  now  ?"  cried  the  exulting 
scout,  as  he  deprived  his  opponent  of  grasp  and  footing  at  the 
same  moment,  and  whirled  him,  dizzy  and  staggering,  heels  up 
and  head  to  the  earth. 

But  he  was  not  suffered  to  reach  it  by  that  operation  only. 
His  course  was  accelerated  by  other  hands;  and  three  men, 
rushing  with  whoop  and  halloo  from  the  copse  near  which  the 
struggle  had  been  carried  on,  grappled  with  the  fallen  landlord, 
and  plied  him  with  a  succession  of  blows,  the  least  of  which  was 
unnecessary  for  his  overthrow. 

It  seemed  that  Supple  Jack  recognised  these  intruders  almost 
in  the  moment  of  their  appearance ;  but  so  sudden  was  their 
onset,  and  so  great  their  clamor,  that  his  fierce  cry  to  arrest 
them  was  unheard,  and  he  could  only  make  his  wishes  known 
by  adopting  the  summary  process  of  knocking  two  of  them 
down,  by  successive  blows  from  the  only  fist  which  was  left  free 
for  exercise. 


^  THE   TRIAL   FOR   THE   TRUTH.  153 

"  How  now  !  Who  ax'd  you  to  put  your  dirty  fingers  into 
my  dish,  Olin  Massey  ]  or  you,  Bob  Jones  ?  or  you,  Payton 
Burns  ?  This  is  your  bravery,  is  it,  to  beat  a  man  after  I've 
down'd  him,  eh  ?" 

"  But  we  didn't  know  that  'twas  over,  Seargeant.  We  thought 
you  was  a-wanting  help,"  replied  tfie  fellow  who  was  called 
Massey — it  would  seem  in  mockery  only.  He  was  a  little, 
dried-up,  withered  atomy — a  jaundiced  "  sand-lapper,"  or  "  clay- 
eater,"  from  the  Wassamasaw  country — whose  insignificant  size 
and  mean  appearance  did  very  inadequate  justice  to  his  resolute, 
fierce,  and  implacable  character. 

"  And  if  I  was  a-wanting  help,  was  you  the  man  to  give  me 
any  1  Go  'long,  Olm  Massey — you're  a  very  young  chap  to  be 
here.  W^hat  makes  you  here,  I  want  to  know  ?" 

"  Why,  didn't  you  send  us  on  the  scout,  jist  here,  in  this  very 
place  ?"  said  the  puny  but  pugnacious  person  addressed,  with  a 
fierceness  of  tone  and  gesture,  and  a  fire  in  his  eye,  which  the 
feebleness  of  his  form  did  not  in  the  least  seem  to  warrant. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure ;  but  why  didn't  you  come  ?  I've  been  here 
a  matter  of  two  hours  by  the  sun ;  and  as  you  didn't  come,  I 
reckoned  you  had  taken  track  after  some  tory  varmints,  and  had 
gone  deeper  into  the  swamp.  You've  dodged  some  tories,  eh  ?" 

"  No,  ha'n't  seen  a  soul." 

•'  Then,  by  the  hokey,  Olin  Massey,  you've  been  squat  on  a 
log,  playing  old  sledge  for  pennies !" 

The  scouting  party  looked  down  in  silence.  The  little  man 
from  Wassamasaw  felt  his  anger  subside  within  him. 

"  Corporal  Massey,  give  me  them  painted  darlings  out  of  your 
pockets,  before  they're  the  death  of  you.  By  old  natur,  betwixt 
cards  and  rum,  I've  lost  more  of  my  men  than  by  Cunningham's 
bullets  or  Tarleton's  broadswords.  Give  me  them  cards,  Olin 
Massey,  and  make  your  respects  to  my  good  natur,  that  I  don't 
blow  you  to  the  colonel." 

The  offender  obeyed.  He  drew  from  hig  pocket,  in  silence,  a 
•pack  of  the  dirtiest  cards  that  ever  were  thumbed  over  a  pine 
log,  and  delivered  them  to  his  superior  with  the  air  of  a  school- 
boy from  whom  the  master  had  cruelly  taken,  "  at  one  fell 
swoop,"  top,  marbles,  and  ball. 

7* 


154  THE  SCOUT. 

"  There,"  said  Supple  Jack,  as  he  thrust  them  into  his  pocket 
— "  I'll  put  them  up  safely,  boys,  and  you  shall  have  'em  ag'in, 
for  a  whole  night — after  our  next  brush  with  the  tories.  Go 
you  now  and  git  your  nags  in  readiness,  while  I  see  to  Muggs. 
I'll  jine  you  directly  at  the  red  clay." 

When  they  had  disappeared,  he  turned  to  the  landlord,  who 
had  meanwhile  risen,  though  rather  slowly,  from  the  earth,  and 
now  stood  a  silent  spectator  of  the  interview. 

"  Now,  Muggs,  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  try  the  tug  over  agin. 
These  blind  boys  of  mine  put  in  jest  a  moment  too  soon.  They 
helped  to  flatten  you,  I'm  thinking ;  and  so,  if  you  ain't 
quite  satisfied  which  way  the  truth  is,  it's  easy  to  go  it  over 
agin." 

The  offer  was  more  liberal  than  Muggs  expected  or  desired. 
He  was  already  sufficiently  convince'*!. 

"  No,  no,  Supple ;  you're  too  much  for  me  !" 

"  It's  the  truth  that's  too  much  for  you,  Muggs — not  me  !  I 
reckon  you're  satisfied  now  which  way  the  truth  is.  You've  got 
a  right  onderstanding  in  this  business." 

The  landlord  made  some  admissions,  the  amount  of  which, 
taken  without  circumlocution,  was,  that  he  had  been  whipped  in 
a  fair  fight ;  and,  according  to  all  the  laws  of  war,  as  well  as 
common  sense,  that  he  was  now  at  the  disposal  of  the  victor. 
His  acknowledgments  were  sufficiently  satisfactory. 

"  We've  prayed  for  it,  Muggs,  and  jest  as  we  prayed  we  got 
it.  You're  rubbing  your  legs  and  your  sides,  but  what's  a  bruise 
and  a  pain  in  the  side,  or  even  a  broken  rib,  when  we've  got  the 
truth  ?  After  that,  a  hurt  of  the  body  is  a  small  matter ;  and 
then  a  man  don't  much  fear  any  sort  of  danger.  Let  me  know 
that  I'm  in  the  right  way,  and  that  justice  is  on  my  side,  and  I 
don't  see  the  danger,  though  it  stands  in  the -shape  of  the  biggest 
gun-muzzle  that  ever  bellowed  from  the  walls  of  Charlestown  in 
the  great  siege.  Now,  Muggs,  since  you  say  now  that  you  on- 
derstand  the  argyment  I  set  you,  and  that  you  agree  to  have 
your  liberties  the  same  as  the  rest  of  us,  I'll  jist  open  your  eyes 
to  a  little  of  the  resk  you've  been  a-running  for  the  last  few 
days.  Look — read  this  here  letter,  and  see  if  you  can  recollect 
the  writing." 


THE   TRIAL   FOE  THE  TRUTH.  155 

The  blood  left  the  cheeks  of  the  landlord  the  instant  that  the 
scout  handed  him  the  letter. 

"  Where  did  you  find  it,  Supple  ?"  he  gasped,  apprehensively. 

"  Find  it  !  I  first  found  the  sculp  of  the  chap  that  carried  it," 
was  the  cool  reply.  "  But  you  answer  to  the  writing,  don't  you 
— it's  your'n?" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  you  know  it,  Supple,  without  my  saying  so." 

'*  Reckon  I  do,  Muggs — it's  pretty  well  known  in  these  parts; 
and  s'pose  any  of  our  boys  but  me  had  got  hold  of  it !  Where 
would  you  be,  I  wonder? — swinging  on  one  of  the  oak  limbs 
before  your  own  door ;  dangling  a  good  pair  of  legs  of  no  sort 
of  use  to  yourself  or  anybody  else.  But  I'm  your  friend,  Muggs ; 
a  better  friend  to  you  than  you've  been  to  yourself.  I  come 
and  argy  the  matter  with  you,  and  reason  with  you  to  your 
onderstanding,  and  make  a  convarsion  of  you  without  trying  to 
frighten  you  into  it.  Now  that  you  see  the  error  of  your  ways, 
I  show  you  their  danger  also.  This  letter  is  tory  all  over,  but 
there's  one  thing  in  it  that  made  me  have  marcy  upon  you — 
it's  here,  jist  in  the  middle,  where  you  beg  that  bloody  tory, 
Ned  Conway,  to  have  marcy  on  his  brother.  Anybody  that 
speaks  friendly,  or  kind,  of  Clarence  Conway,  I'll  help  him  if  I 
can.  Now,  Muggs,  I'll  go  with  you  to  your  house,  and  there 
I'll  burn  this  letter  in  your  own  sight,  so  that  it'll  never  rise  up 
in  judgment  agin  you.  But  you  must  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it.  You  must  tell  me  all  you  know,  that  I  may  be  sure  you  feel 
the  truth  according  to  the  lesson,  which,  with  the  helping  of 
God,  I've  been  able  to  give  you." 

The  landlord  felt  himself  at  the  mercy  of  the  scout ;  but  the 
generous  treatment  which  he  had  received  from  the  worthy  fel- 
low— treatment  so  unwonted  at  that  period  of  wanton  bloodshed 
and  fierce  cruelty — inclined  him  favorably  to  the  cause,  the  argu- 
ments for  which  had  been  produced  by  so  liberal  a  disputant.  His 
own  policy,  to  which  we  have  already  adverted  more  than  once, 
suggested  far  better ;  andj  if  the  landlord  relented  at  all  in  his 
revelations,  it  was  with  the  feeling — natural,  perhaps,  to  every 
mind,  however  lowly — which  makes  it  revolt  at  the  idea  of 
becoming  treacherous,  even  to  the  party  which  it  has  joined  for 
purposes  of  treachery.  The  information  which  the  scout  ob- 


156  THE  SCOUT. 

tained,  and  which  was  valuable  to  the  partisans,  he  drew  from 
the  relator  by  piecemeal.  Every  item  of  knowledge  was  drawn 
from  him  by  its  own  leading  question,  and  yielded  with  broken 
utterance,  and  the  half-vacant  look  of  one  who  is  only  in  part 
conscious,  as  he  is  only  in  part  willing. 

"  Pretty  well,  Muggs,  though  you  don't  come  out  like  a  man 
who  felt  the  argyment  at  the  bottom  of  his  onderstanding. 
There's  something  more  now.  In  this  bit  of  writing  there's  a 
line  or  two  about  one  Peter  Flagg,  who,  it  seems,  carried  forty- 
one  niggers  to  town  last  January,  and  was  to  ship  'em  to  the 
West  Injies.  Now,  can  you  tell  if  he  did  ship  them  niggers  V9 

"I  can't  exactly  now,  Supple — it's  onbeknown  to  me." 

"  But  how  come  you  to  write  about  this  man  and  them  nig- 
gers?" 

"Why,  you  see,  Peter  Flagg  was  here  looking  after  the 
captain." 

"  Ah  !  — he  was  here,  was  he  ?" 

"  Yes ;  he  jined  the  captain  just  before  Butler's  men  gin  him 
that  chase." 

"  He's  with  Ned  Conway  then,  is  he  V9 

"  No,  I  reckon  not.  He  didn't  stay  with  the  captain  but  half 
a  day." 

"  Ah  !  ha ! — and  where  did  he  go  then  V9 

11  Somewhere  across  the  river." 

"  Below,  I'm  thinking." 

"  Yes,  he  took  the  lower  route ;  I  reckon  he  went  toward  the 
Santee." 

"  Isaac  Muggs,  don't  you  know  that  the  business  of  Pete 
Flagg  is  to  ship  stolen  niggers  to  the  West  Injy  islands  V9 

"  Well,  Supple,  I  believe  it  is,  though  I  don't  know." 

"  That's  enough  about  Pete.  Now,  Muggs,  when  did  you  see 
Watson  Gray  last  ?  You  know  the  man  I  mean.  He  comes 
from  the  Congaree  near  Granby.  He's  the  one  that  watches 
Brier  Park  for  Ned  Conway,  and  brings  him  in  every  report 
about  the  fine  bird  that  keeps  there.  You  know  what  bird  I 
mean,  don't  you  ]" 

"  Miss  Flora,  I  reckon." 

"A  very  good  reckon.     Well !  you  know  Gray  V9 


THE  TRIAL  FOB  THE  TRUTH.  157 

"Yes — he's  a  great  scout — the  best,  after  you,  I'm  think- 
ing, on  the  Congaree." 

"  Before  me,  Muggs,"  said  the  scout,  with  a  sober  shake  of 
the  head.  "  He's  before  me,  or  I'd  ha'  trapped  him  many's  the 
long  day  ago.  He's  the  only  outlyer  that's  beyond  my  heft, 
that  I  acknowledge  on  the  river:  but  he's  a  skunk — a  bad 
chap  about  the  heart.  His  bosom's  full  of  black  places.  He 
loves  to  do  ugly  things,  and  to  make  a  brag  of  'em  afterward, 
and  that's  a  bad  character  for  a  good  scout.  But  that's  neither 
here  nor  thar.  I  only  want  you  now  to  think  up,  and  tell  me 
when  he  was  here  last." 

«  Well !— " 

"Ah,  don't  stop  to  'well'  about  it,"  cried  the  other  impa- 
tiently— "  speak  out  like  a  bold  man  that's  jest  got  the  truth. 
Wa'n't  Watson  Gray  here  some  three  days  ago — before  the 
troop  came  down — and  didn't  he  leave  a  message  by  word  of 
mouth  with  you  ?  Answer  me  that,  Muggs,  like  a  good  whig  as 
you  ought  to  be." 

"  It's  true  as  turpentine,  Supple ;  but,  Lord  love  you,  how  did 
you  come  to  guess  it  ?" 

"No  matter  that ! — up  now,  and  tell  me  what  that  same  mes- 
sage was." 

"  That's  a  puzzler,  I  reckon,  for  I  didn't  onderstand  it  all  my- 
self. There  was  five  sticks  and  two  bits  of  paper — on  one  was 
a  long  string  of  multiplication  and  'rithmetic — figures  and  all 
that ! — on  the  other  was  a  sort  of  drawing  that  looked  most  like 
a  gal  on  horseback." 

"  Eh  !  —  The  gal  on  horseback  was  nateral  enough.  Perhaps 
I  can  make  out  that ;  but  the  bits  of  stick  and  'rithmetic  is  all 
gibberish.  Wa'n't  there  nothing  that  you  had  to  say  by  word 
of  mouth  to  Ned  Conway  1" 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure.  He  left  word  as  how  the  whigs  was  get- 
ting thicker  and  thicker — how  Sumter  and  Lee  marked  all  the 
road  from  Granby  down  to  Orangeburg  with  their  horse-tracks, 
and  never  afeard ;  and  how  Greene  was  a-pushing  across  tow- 
ard Ninety-Six,  where  he  was  guine  to  'siege  Cruger." 

"  Old  news,  Muggs,  and  I  reckon  you've  kept  back  the  best 


158  THE  SCOUT. 

for  the  last.  What  did  he  have  to  say  'bout  Miss  Flora  ]  Speak 
up  to  that !" 

"  Not  a  word.  I  don't  think  he  said  anything  more,  onless  it 
was  something  about  boats  being  a-plenty,  and  no  danger  of 
horse-tracks  on  the  river." 

"  There's  a  meaning  in  that ;  and  I  must  spell  it  out,"  said 
the  scout ;  "  but  now,  Muggs,  another  question  or  two.  Who 
was  the  man  that  Ned  Oonway  sent  away  prisoner  jest  before 
day  ?" 

"  Lord,  Supple,  you  sees  everything !"  ejaculated  the  landlord. 
Pressed  by  the  wily  scout,  he  related,  with  tolerable  correctness, 
all  the  particulars  of  the  affray  the  night  before  between  the 
captain  of  the  Black  Riders  and  his  subordinate ;  and  thre\v 
such  an  additional  light  upon  the  causes  of  quarrel  between  them 
as  suggested  to  the  scout  a  few  new  measures  of  policy. 

"  Well,  Muggs,"  said  he,  at  the  close,  "I'll  tell  you  something 
in  return  for  all  you've  told  me.  My  boys  caught  that  same 
Stockton  and  trapped  his  guard  in  one  hour  after  they  took  the 
road ;  and  I'm  glad  to  find,  by  putting  side  by  side  what  they 
confessed  and  what  you  tell  me,  that  you've  stuck  to  the  truth 
like  a  gentleman  and  a  whig.  They  didn't  tell  me  about  the 
lieutenant's  wanting  to  be  cappin,  but  that's  detarmined  me  to 
parole  the  fellow  that  he  may  carry  on  his  mischief  in  the  troop. 
I'm  going  to  leave  you  now,  Muggs ;  but  you'll  see  an  old  man 
coming  here  to  look  after  a  horse  about  midday.  Give  him  a 
drink,  and  say  to  him,  that  you  don't  know  nothing  about  the 
horse,  but  there's  a  hound  on  track  after  something,  that  went 
barking  above,  three  hours  before.  That'll  sarve  his  purpose 
and  mine  too  :  and  now,  God  bless  you,  old  boy,  and,  remember, 
I'm  your  friend,  and  I  can  do  you  better  sarvice  now  than  any 
two  Black  Riders  of  the  gang.  As  I've  convarted  you,  I'll 
stand  by  you,  and  I'll  never  be  so  far  off  in  the  swamp  that  I 
can't  hear  your  grunting,  and  come  out  to  your  help.  So,  good- 
by,  and  no  more  forgitting  of  that  argyment." 

"And  where  are  you  going  now,  Supple?" 

"  Psho,  boy,  that's  telling.  Was  I  to  let  you  know  that, 
Watson  Gray  might  worm  it  out  from  under  your  tongue,  with- 
out taking  a  wrastle  for  it.  I'll  tell  you  when  I  come  back," 


GLIMPSES   OF   PASSION   AND   ITS   FRUITS.  159 

And  with  a  good-humored  chuckle  the  scout  disappeared, 
leaving  the  landlord  to  meditate,  at  his  leisure,  upon  the  value  of 
those  arguments  which  had  made  him  in  one  day  resign  a  faith 
which  had  been  cherished  as  long — as  it  had  proved  profitable. 
Muggs  had  no  hope  that  the  new  faith  would  prove  equally  so ; 
but  if  it  secured  to  him  the  goodly  gains  of  the  past,  he  was  sat- 
isfied. Like  many  of  the  tories  at  this  period,  he  received  a 
sudden  illumination,  which  showed  him  in  one  moment  the  errors 
for  which  he  had  been  fighting  five  years.  Let  not  this  surprise 
our  readers.  In  the  closing  battles  of  the  Revolution  in  South 
Carolina,  many  were  the  tories,  converted  to  the  patriot  cause, 
who,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  displayed  the  most  conspicuous 
bravery  fighting  on  the  popular  side.  And  this  must  not  be 
suffered  to  lower  them  in  our  opinion.  The  revolutionary  war, 
in  South  Carolina,  did  not  so  much  divide  the  people,  because 
of  the  tendencies  to  loyalty,  or  liberty,  on  either  hand,  as  be- 
cause of  social  and  other  influences — personal  and  sectional 
feuds — natural  enough  to  a  new  country,  in  which  one  third  of 
the  people  were  of  foreign  birth. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

GLIMPSES    OF    PASSION   AND   ITS   FRUITS. 

SUPPLE  JACK  soon  joined  his  commander,  bringing  with  him, 
undiminished  by  use  or  travel,  all  the  various  budgets  of  intelli- 
gence which  he  had  collected  in  his  scout.  He  had  dismissed 
the  insubordinate  lieutenant  of  the  Black  Riders  on  parole ;  not 
without  suffering  him  to  hear,  as  a  familiar  on  dit  along  the 
river,  that  Captain  Morton  was  about  to  sacrifice  the  troop  at 
the  first  opportunity,  and  fly  with  all  his  booty  from  the  country. 

"  I've  know'd,"  said  he  to  himself,  after  Stockton  took  his 
departure,  "  I've  know'd  a  smaller  spark  than  that  set  off  a 
whole  barrel  of  gunpowder." 

To  his  colonel,  having  delivered  all  the  intelligence  which  he 


160  THE  SCOUT. 

had  gained  of  the  movements  as  well  of  the  public  as  private 
enemy,  he  proceeded,  as  usual,  to  give  such  counsel  as  the  na- 
ture of  his  revelations  seemed  to  suggest.  This  may  be  summed 
up  in  brief,  without  fatiguing  the  reader  with  the  detailed  con- 
versation which  ensued  between  them  in  their  examination  of 
the  subject. 

"  From  what  I  see,  colonel,  Ned  Conway  is  gone  below.  It's 
true  he  did  seem  to  take  the  upper  route,  but  Massey  can't  find 
the  track  after  he  gits  to  Fisher's  Slue"  (diminutive  for  sluice). 
"  There,  I  reckon,  he  chopped  right  round,  crossed  the  slue,  I'm 
thinking,  and  dashed  below.  Well,  what's  he  gone  below  for, 
and  what's  Pete  Flagg  gone  for  across  to  the  Santee1? — Pete, 
that  does  nothing  but  ship  niggers  for  the  British  officers.  They 
all  see  that  they're  got  to  go,  and  they're  for  making  hay  while 
the  sun  is  still  a-shining.  Now,  I'm  thinking  that  Ned  Conway 
is  after  your  mother's  niggers.  He'll  steal  'em  and  ship  'em  by 
Pete  Flagg  to  the  West  Indies,  and  be  the  first  to  follow,  the 
moment  that  Rawdon  gits  licked  by  Greene.  It's  cl'ar  to  me 
that  you  ought  to  go  below  and  see  about  the  business." 

The  arguments  of  the  woodman  were  plausible  enough,  and 
Clarence  Conway  felt  them  in  their  fullest  force.  But  he  had 
his  doubts  about  the  course  alleged  to  be  taken  by  his  kinsman, 
and  a  feeling  equally  selfish,  perhaps,  but  more  noble  intrinsi- 
cally, made  him  fancy  that  his  chief  interest  lay  above.  He 
was  not  insensible  to  his  mother's  and  his  own  probable  loss, 
should  the  design  of  Edward  Conway  really  be  such  as  Ban- 
nister suggested,  but  a  greater  stake,  in  his  estimation,  lay  in 
the  person  of  the  fair  Flora  Middleton ;  and  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  believe,  valuing  her  charms  as  he  did  himself,  that 
his  kinsman  would  forego  such  game  for  the  more  mercenary 
objects  involved  in  the  other  adventure. 

The  tenor  of  the  late  interview  between  himself  and  the  chief 
of  the  Black  Riders,  had  forced  his  mind  to  brood  with  serious 
anxiety  on  the  probable  fortunes  of  this  lady;  and  his  own 
hopes  and  fears  becoming  equally  active  at  the  same  time,  the 
exulting  threats  and  bold  assumptions  of  Edward  Conway — so 
very  different  from  the  sly  humility  of  his  usual  deportment — 
awakened  all  his  apprehensions.  He  resolved  to  go  forward  to 


GLIMPSES  OF  PASSION  AND  ITS  FRUITS.  161 

the  upper  Congaree,  upon  the  pleasant  banks  of  which  stood 
the  princely  domains  of  the  Middleton  family ;  persuaded,  as  he 
was,  that  the  rival  with  whom  he  contended  for  so  great  a 
treasure,  equally  wily  and  dishonorable,  had  in  contemplation 
some  new  villany,  which,  if  not  seasonably  met,  would  result 
in  equal  loss  to  himself  and  misery  to  the  maiden  of  his  heart. 

Yet  he  did  not  resolve  thus,  without  certain  misgivings  and 
self-reproaches.  His  mother  was  quite  as  dear  to  him  as  ever 
mother  was  to  the  favorite  son  of  her  affections.  He  knew  the 
danger  in  which  her  property  stood,  and  was  not  heedless  of  the 
alarm  which  she  would  experience,  in  her  declining  years  and 
doubtful  health,  at  the  inroad  of  any  marauding  foe.  The  ar- 
guments of  a  stronger  passion,  however,  prevailed  above  these 
apprehensions,  and  he  contented  himself  with  a  determination  to 
make  the  best  of  his  way  below,  as  soon  as  he  had  assured  him- 
self of  the  safety  and  repose  of  everything  above.  Perhaps, 
too,  he  had  a  farther  object  in  this  contemplated  visit  to  Flora 
Middleton.  The  counsel  of  Bannister  on  a  previous  occasion, 
which  urged  upon  him  to  bring  his  doubts  to  conviction  on  the 
subject  of  the  course  which  her  feelings  might  be  disposed  to 
take,  found  a  corresponding  eagerness  in  his  own  heart  to  arrive 
at  a  knowledge,  always  so  desirable  to  a  lover,  and  which  he 
seeks  in  fear  and  trembling  as  well  as  in  hope. 

"  I  will  but  see  her,"  was  his  unuttered  determination,  "I  will 
but  see  her,  and  see  that  she  is  safe,  and  hear  at  once  her  final 
answer.  These  doubts  are  too  painful  for  endurance !  Better 
to  hear  the  worst  at  once,  than  live  always  in  apprehension 
of  it." 

Leaving  the  youthful  partisan  to  pursue  his  own  course,  let  us 
now  turn  for  a  while  to  that  of  Edward  Morton,  and  the  gloomy 
and  fierce  banditti  which  he  commanded.  He  has  already 
crossed  the  "Wateree,  traversed  the  country  between  that  river 
and  the  Congaree ;  and  after  various  small  adventures,  such  as 
might  be  supposed  likely  to  occur  in  such  a  progress,  but  which 
do  not  demand  from  us  any  more  special  notice,  we  find  him  on 
the  banks  of  the  latter  stream,  in  the  immediate  neighborhood 
of  the  spot  where  it  receives  into  its  embrace  the  twin  though 
warring  waters  of  the  Saluda  and  the  Broad — a  spot,  subse- 


162  THE   SCOUT. 

quently,  better  distinguished  as  the  chosen  site  of  one  of  the 
loveliest  towns  of  the  state — the  seat  of  its  capital,  and  of  a 
degree  of  refinement,  worth,  courtesy,  and  taste,  which  are 
not  often  equalled  in  any  region,  and  are  certainly  surpassed  in 
none. 

Columbia,  however,  at  the  period  of  our  story,  was  not  in 
existence ;  and  the  meeting  of  its  tributary  waters,  their  stri- 
ving war,  incessant  rivalry,  and  the  continual  clamors  of  their 
strife,  formed  the  chief  distinction  of  the  spot ;  and  conferred 
upon  it  no  small  degree  of  picturesque  vitality  and  loveliness. 
A  few  miles  below,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream,  stood 
then  the  flourishing  town  of  Granby — a  place  of  considerable 
magnitude  and  real  importance  to  the  wants  of  the  contiguous 
country,  but  now  fallen  into  decay  and  utterly  deserted.  A  gar- 
risoned town  of  the  British,  it  had  just  before  this  period  been 
surrendered  by  Colonel  Maxwell  to  the  combined  American  force 
under  Sumter  and  Lee — an  event  which  counselled  the  chief 
of  the  Black  E-iders  to  an  increased  degree  of  caution  as  he 
approached  a  neighborhood  so  likely  to  be  swarming  with  en- 
emies. 

Here  we  may  as  well  communicate  to  the  reader  such  por- 
tions of  the  current  history  of  the  time,  as  had  not  yet  entirely 
reached  this  wily  marauder.  While  he  was  pursuing  his  personal 
and  petty  objects  of  plunder  on  the  Wateree,  Lord  Eawdon 
had  fled  from  Camclen,  which  he  left  in  flames ;  Sumter  had 
taken  Orangeburg ;  Fort  Motte  had  surrendered  to  Marion ; 
the  British  had  been  compelled  to  evacuate  their  post  at  Nelson's 
ferry;  and  the  only  fortified  place  of  which  they  now  kept 
possession  in  the  interior  was  that  of  Ninety-Six ;  a  station  of 
vast  importance  to  .their  interests  in  the  back  country,  and 
which,  accordingly,  they  resolved  to  defend  to  the  last  extremity. 

But  though  ignorant  of  some  of  the  events  here  brought 
together,  Edward  Morton  was  by  no  means  ignorant  of  the  dif- 
ficulties which  were  accumulating  around  the  fortunes  of  the 
British,  and  which,  he  naturally  enough  concluded,  must  result 
in  these,  and  even  worse  disasters.  Of  the  fall  of  Granby  he 
was  aware ;  of  the  audacity  and  number  of  the  American  par- 
ties, his  scouts  hourly  informed  him,  even  if  his  own  frequent 


GLIMPSES   OF   PATSSION   AND   ITS   FRUITS.  163 

and  narrow  escapes  had  failed  to  aAvaken  him  to  a  sense  of  the 
prevailing  dangers.  But,  governed  by  an  intense  selfishness, 
he  had  every  desire  to  seek,  in  increased  caution,  for  the  promo- 
tion of  those  interests  and  objects,  without  which  his  patriotism 
might  possibly  have  been  less  prudent,  and  of  the  proper  kind. 
He  had  neither  wish  nor  motive  to  go  forward  rashly ;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, we  find  him  advancing  to  the  Saluda,  with  the  slow, 
wary  footsteps  of  one  who  looks  to  behold  his  enemy  starting 
forth,  without  summons  of  trumpet,  from  the  bosom  of  every 
brake  along  the  route. 

It  was  noon  when  his  troop  reached  the  high  banks  of  the 
river,  the  murmur  of  whose  falls,  like  the  distant  mutterings  of 
ocean  upon  some  island-beach,  were  heard,  pleasantly  soothing, 
in  the  sweet  stillness  of  a  forest  noon.  A  respite  was  given  to 
the  employments  of  the  troop.  Scouts  were  sent  out,  videttes 
stationed,  and  the  rest  surrendered  themselves  to  repose,  each 
after  his  own  fashion :  some  to  slumber,  some  to  play,  while 
others,  like  their  captain,  wandered  off  to  the  river  banks,  to 
angle  or  to  meditate,  as  their  various  moods  might  incline. 

Morton  went  apart  from  the  rest,  and  found  a  sort  of  hiding- 
place  upon  a  rock  immediately  overhanging  the  river,  where, 
surrounded  by  an  umbrageous  forest-growth,  he  threw  his  person 
at  length,  and  yielded  himself  up  to  those  brooding  cares  which 
he  felt  were  multiplying  folds  about  his  mind,  in  the  intangling 
grasp  of  which  it  worked  slowly  and  without  its  usual  ease  and 
elasticity. 

The  meditations  are  inevitably  mournful  with  a  spirit  such  as 
his.  Guilt  is  a  thing  of  isolation  always,  even  when  most  sur- 
rounded by  its  associates  and  operations.  Its  very  insecurity 
tends  to  its  isolation  as  completely  as  its  selfishness.  Edward 
Morton  felt  all  this.  He  had  been  toiling,  and  not  in  vain,  for 
a  mercenary  object.  His  spoils  had  been  considerable.  He 
had  hoarded  up  a  secret  treasure  in  another  country,  secure  from 
the  vicissitudes  which  threatened  every  fortune  in  that  where 
he  had  won  it;  but  he  himself  was  insecure.  Treachery,  he 
began  to  believe,  and  not  a  moment  too  soon,  was  busy  all 
around  him.  He  had  kept  down  fear,  and  doubt,  and  distrust, 
by  a  life  of  continual  action ;  but  it  was  in  moments  of  repose 


164  THE  SCOUT. 

like  this,  that  he  himself  found  none.  It  was  then  that  his  fears 
grew  busy — that  he  began  to  distrust  his  fate,  and  to  apprehend 
that  all  that  future,  which  he  fondly  fancied  to  pass  in  serenity 
of  fortune,  if  not  of  mind  and  feeling,  would  yet  be  clouded  and 
compassed  with  denial.  His  eye,  stretching  away  on  either 
hand,  beheld  the  two  chafing  rivers  rushing  downward  to  that 
embrace  which  they  seem  at  once  to  desire  and  to  avoid.  A 
slight  barrier  of  land  and  shrubbery  interposes  to  prevent  their 
too  sudden  meeting!  Little  islands  throw  themselves  between, 
as  if  striving  to  thwart  the  fury  of  their  wild  collision,  but  in 
vain !  The  impetuous  waters  force  their  way  against  every 
obstruction:  and  wild  and  angry,  indeed,  as  if  endued  with 
moral  energies  and  a  human  feeling  of  hate,  is  their  first  en- 
counter— their  recoil — their  return  to  the  conflict,  in  foam  and 
roar,  and  commotion,  until  exhaustion  terminates  the  strife,  and 
they  at  length  repose  together  in  the  broad  valleys  of  the  Con- 
garee  below. 

The  turbulence  of  the  scene  alone  interested  the  dark-bosomed 
spectator  whose  fortunes  we  contemplate.  He  saw  neither  its  sub- 
lime nor  its  gentle  features — its  fair  groves — its  sweet  islands  of 
rock  and  tufted  vegetation,  upon  which  the  warring  waters,  as  if 
mutually  struggling  to  do  honor  to  their  benevolent  interposition, 
fling  ever  their  flashing,  and  transparent  wreaths  of  whitish  foam. 
His  moody  thought  was  busy  in  likening  the  prospect  to  that 
turbulence,  the  result  of  wild  purposes  and  wicked  desires,  which 
filled  his  own  bosom.  A  thousand  impediments,  like  the  numer- 
ous rocks  and  islands  that  rose  to  obstruct  the  passage  of  the 
streams  which  he  surveyed,  lay  in  his  course,  baffling  his  aim, 
driving  him  from  his  path,  resisting  his  desires,  and  scattering 
inefficiently  all  his  powers.  Even  as  the  waters  which  he  be- 
held, complaining  in  the  fruitless  conflict  with  the  rude  masses 
from  which  they  momently  recoiled,  so  did  he,  unconsciously, 
break  into  speech,  as  the  difficulties  in  his  own  future  progress 
grew  more  and  more  obvious  to  his  reflections. 

"  There  must  soon  be  an  end  to  this.  That  old  fool  was 
right.  I  should  be  a  fool  to  wait  to  see  it.  Once,  twice,  thrice, 
already,  have  I  escaped,  when  death  seemed  certain.  Let  me 
not  provoke  Fortune — let  me  not  task  her  too  far.  It  will  be 


GLIMPSES   OF   PASSION   AND   ITS   FRUITS.  165 

impossible  to  baffle  these  bloodhounds  much  longer!  Their 
scent  is  too  keen,  their  numbers  too  great,  and  the  spoil  too  en- 
couraging. Besides,  I  have  done  enough.  I  have  proved  my 
loyalty.  Loyalty  indeed!  —  a  profitable  pretext! — and  there 
will  be  no  difficulty  now  in  convincing  Rawdon  that  I  ought  not 
to  be  the  last  to  linger  here  in  waiting  for  the  end.  That  end 
— what  shall  it  be? — A  hard  fight — a  bloody  field — a  sharp 
pain  and  quiet!  Quiet! — that  were  something,  too,  which 
might  almost  reconcile  one  to  linger.  Could  I  be  secure  of  that, 
at  the  risk  of  a  small  pain  only ;  but  it  may  be  worse.  Captiv- 
ity were  something  worse  than  death.  In  their  hands,  alive,  and 
no  Spanish  tortures  would  equal  mine.  No  !  no  !  I  must  not  en- 
counter that  danger.  I  must  keep  in  reserve  one  weapon  at 
least,  consecrated  to  the  one  purpose.  This — this !  must  secure 
me  against  captivity !" 

He  drew  from  his  bosom,  as  he  spoke  these  words,  a  small 
poniard  of  curious  manufacture,  which  he  contemplated  with  an 
eye  of  deliberate  study ;  as  if  the  exquisite  Moorish  workman- 
ship of  the  handle,  and  the  rich  and  variegated  enamel  of  the 
blade,  served  to  promote  the  train  of  gloomy  speculation  into 
which  he  had  fallen.  A  rustling  of  the  leaves — the  slight  step 
of  a  foot  immediately  behind  him — caused  him  to  start  to  his 
feet; — but  he  resumed  his  place  with  an  air  of  vexation,  as  he 
beheld  in  the  intruder,  the  person  of  the  boy  whom  we  have 
seen  once  before  in  close  attendance  upon  him. 

"How  now!"  he  exclaimed  impatiently;  "can  I  have  no 
moment  to  myself — why  will  you  thus  persist  in  following 
me?" 

"  I  have  no  one  else  to  follow,"  was  the  meek  reply — the 
tones  falling,  as  it  were,  in  echo  from  a  weak  and  withered 
heart. 

"I  have  no  one  else  to  follow,  and — and — " 

The  lips  faltered  into  silence. 

"  Speak  out — and  what  1 — " 

"You  once  said  to  me  that  I  should  go  with  none  but  you — 
oh,  Edward  Conway,  spurn  me  not — drive  me  not  away  with 
those  harsh  looks  and  cruel  accents; — let  me  linger  beside  you 
— though,  if  you  please  it,  still  out  of  your  sight;  for  I  am  des- 


166  THE   SCOUT. 

olate — oh!  so  desolate,  when  you  leave  me!  —  you,  to  whom 
alone,  of  all  the  world,  I  may  have  some  right  to  look  for  pro- 
tection and  for  life." 

The  sex  of  the  speaker  stood  revealed — in  the  heaving  breast 
— the  wo-begone  countenance— ^  the  heart-broken  despondency 
of  look  and  gesture — the  tear-swollen  and  down-looking  eye. 
She  threw  herself  before  him  as  she  spoke,  her  face  buried  in 
her  hands  and  prone  upon  the  ground.  Her  sobs  succeeded  her 
speech,  and  in  fact  silenced  it. 

"  No  more  of  this,  Mary  Clarkson,  you  disturb  and  vex  me. 
Rise.  I  have  seen,  for  some  days  past,  that  you  had  some  new 
tribulation — some  new  burden  of  wo  to  deliver ;— out  with  it 
now — say  what  you  have  to  say ; — and,  look  you,  no  winnings ! 
Life  is  too  seriously  full  of  real  evils,  dangers,  and  difficulties,  to 
suffer  me  to  bear  with  these  imaginary  afflictions." 

"  Oh,  God,  Edward  Conway,  it  is  not  imaginary  with  me.  It 
is  real — it  is  to  be  seen — to  be  felt.  I  am  dying  with  it.  It 
is  in  my  pale  cheek — my  burning  brain,  in  which  there  is  a 
constant  fever.  Oh,  look  not  upon  me  thus — thus  angrily — 
for,  in  truth  I  am  dying.  I  feel  it !  I  know  that  I  can  not  live 
very  long;  —  and  yet,  I  am  so  afraid  to  die.  It  is  this  fear,  Ed- 
ward Conway,  that  makes  me  intrude  upon  you  now." 

"And  what  shall  I  do,  and  what  shall  I  say  to  lessen  your 
fears  of  death1?  And  why  should  I  do  it — why,  yet  more, 
should  you  desire  it  ?  Death  is,  or  ought  to  be,  a  very  good 
thing  for  one  who  professes  to  be  so  very  miserable  in  life  as 
yourself.  You  heard  me  as  you  approached? — if  you  did,  you 
must  have  heard  my  resolution  to  seek  death,  from  my  own 
weapon,  under  certain  circumstances.  Now,  it  is  my  notion  that 
whenever  life  becomes  troublesome,  sooner  than  grumble  at  it 
hourly,  I  should  make  use  of  some  small  instrument  like  this. 
A  finger  prick  only — no  greater  pain — will  suffice,  and  put  an 
end  to  life  and  pain  in  the  same  instant." 

"Would  it  could  !  would  it  could  !"  exclaimed  the  unfortimate 

victim  of  that  perfidy  which  now  laughed  her  miseries  to  scorn. 

"  Why,  so  it  can  !     Do  you  doubt  ]     I  tell  you,  that  there  is 

no  more  pain,  Mary,  in  driving  this  dagger  into  your  heart  — 

into  its  most  tender   and  vital  places — than  there  would  be, 


GLIMPSES   OF   PASSION   AND   ITS   FRUITS  167 

burying  it  in  your  finger.     Death  will  follow,  and  there's  the 
end  of  it." 

"Not  the  end,  not  the  end — if  it  were,  Edward  Conway,  how 
gladly  would  I  implore  from  your  hand  the  blessing  of  that 
lasting  peace  which  would  follow  from  its  blow.  It  is  the  here- 
after— the  awful  hereafter — which  I  fear  to  meet." 

"  Pshaw  !  a  whip  of  the  hangman — a  bugbear  of  the  priests, 
for  cowards  and  women  !  I'll  warrant  you,  if  you  are  willing  to 
try  the  experiment,  perfect  security  from  all  pain  hereafter !" 

And  the  heartless  wretch  extended  toward  her  the  hand 
which  contained  the  glittering  weapon.  She  shuddered  and 
turned  away — giving  him,  as  she  did  so,  such  a  look  as,  even 
he,  cajlous  as  he  was,  shrunk  to  behold.  A  glance  of  reproach, 
more  keen,  deep,  and  touching,  than  any  word  of  complaint 
which  her  lips  had  ever  ventured  to  utter. 

"Alas  !  Edward  Conway,  has  it  really  come  to  this  !  To  you 
I  have  yielded  everything — virtue,  peace  of  mind — the  love  of 
father,  and  of  mother,  and  of  friends  —  all  that's  most  dear — all 
that  the  heart  deems  most  desirable  - — and  you  offer  me,  in  re- 
turn, for  these — death,  death! — the  sharp,  sudden  poniard — 
the  cold,  cold  grave  !  If  you  offer  it,  Edward  Conway — strike  ! 
— the  death  is  welcome!  Even  the  fear  of  it  is  forgotten. 
Strike,  set  me  free; — I  will  vex  you  no  longer  with  my  pres- 
ence." 

"  Why,  what  a  peevish  fool  you  are,  Mary  Clarkson !  though, 
to  be  sure,  you  are  not  very  different  from  the  rest.  There's 
no  pleasing  any  of  you,  do  as  we  may.  You  first  come  to  me  to 
clamor  about  your  distaste  of  life,  and  by  your  perpetual  grum- 
blings you  seek  to  make  it  as  distasteful  to  me  as  to  yourself. 
Well,  I  tell  you — this  is  my  remedy — this  sudden,  sharp  dagger  ! 
Whenever  I  shall  come  to  regard  life  as  a  thing  of  so  much  mis- 
ery as  you  do,  I  shall  end  it ;  and  I  also  add,  in  the  benevolence 
of  my  heart — 'here  is  my  medicament — I  share  it  with  you!' 
—  and  lo  !  what  an  uproar — what  a  howling.  Look  you,  Mary, 
you  must  trouble  me  no  longer  in  this  manner.  I  am,  just  now, 
in  the  worst  possible  mood  to  bear  with  the  best  friend  under  the 
sun." 

"  Oh,  Edward  Conway,  and  this  too  ! — this,  after  your  prom- 


168  THE  SCOUT. 

ise !  Do  you  remember  your  promise  to  me,  by  the  poplar 
spring,  that  hour  of  my  shame  ? — that  awful  hour  !  Oh  !  what 
was  that  promise,  Edward  Conway  ?  Speak,  Edward  Conway  ! 
Repeat  that  promise,  and  confess  I  was  not  all  guilty.  No,  no  ! 
I  was  only  all  credulous  !  You  beguiled  me  with  a  promise — 
with  an  oath — a  solemn  oath  before  Heaven — did  you  not? — 
that  I  should  be  your  wife.  Till  then,  at  least,  I  was  not 
guilty!" 

"Did  I  really  make  such  a  promise  to  you — eh?"  he  asked 
with  a  scornful  affectation  of  indifference. 

"  Surely,  you  will  not  deny  that  you  did  ?"  she  exclaimed, 
with  an  earnestness  which  was  full  of  amazement. 

"  Well,  I  scarcely  remember.  But  it  matters  not  much,  Mary 
Clarkson.  You  were  a  fool  for  believing.  How  could  you  sup- 
pose that  I  would  marry  you  ?  Ha !  Is  it  so  customary  for 
pride  and  poverty  to  unite  on  the  Congaree  that  you  should  be- 
lieve ?  Is  it  customary  for  the  eldest  son  of  one  of  the  wealthi- 
est families  to  wed  with  the  child  of  one  of  the  poorest  ?  Why, 
you  should  have  known  by  the  promise  itself  that  I  was  amu- 
sing myself  with  your  credulity — that  my  only  object  was  to 
beguile  you — to  win  you  on  my  own  terms — not  to  wear  you ! 
I  simply  stooped  for  conquest,  Mary  Clarkson,  and  you  were 
willing  to  believe  any  lie  for  the  same  object.  It  was  your 
vanity  that  beguiled  you,  Mary  Clarkson,  and  not  my  words. 
You  wished  to  be  a  fine  lady,  and  you  are " 

"  Oh,  do  not  stop.  Speak  it  all  out.  Give  to  my  folly  and 
my  sin  their  true  name.  I  can  bear  to  hear  it  now  without 
shrinking,  for  my  own  thoughts  have  already  spoken  to  my 
heart  the  foul  and  fearful  truth.  I  am,  indeed,  loathsome  to 
myself,  and  would  not  care  to  live  but  that  I  fear  to  die.  'Tis 
not  the  love  of  life  that  makes  me  turn  in  fear  from  the  dagger 
which  you  offer.  This,  Edward  Morton — 'tis  this  which  brings 
me  to  you  now.  I  do  not  seek  you  for  guidance  or  for  counsel 
— no,  no! — no  such  folly  moves  me  now.  I  come  to  you  for 
protection — for  safety — for  security  from  sudden  death — from 
the  judge  —  from  the  avenger  !  He  is  pursuing  us  —  I  have  seen 
him  |" — and,  as  she  spoke  these  almost  incoherent  words,  her 
eye  looked  wildly  among  the  thick  woods  around,  with  a  glance 


GLIMPSES   OF   PASSION   AND    ITS   FRUITS.  169 

full  of  apprehension,  as  if  tlie  danger  she  spoke  of  was  in  reality 
at  hand.  Surprise  was  clearly  expressed  in  the  features  of  her 
callous  paramour. 

"  He  !  Of  whom  speak  you,  child  1  Who  is  it  you  fear  1" — 
and  his  glance  followed  the  wild  direction  of  her  eyes. 

"  My  father ! — Jacob  Clarkson  !  He  is  in  search  of  me — of 
you !  And  oh  !  Edward  Conway,  I  know  him  so  well,  that  I 
tell  you  it  will  not  be  your  high  connections  and  aristocratic 
birth  that  will  save  you  on  the  Congaree  from  a  poor  man's 
rifle,  though  these  may  make  it  a  trifling  thing  for  you  to  nuja  a 
poor  man's  child.  He  is  even  now  in  search  of  us — I  have  seen 
him  !  I  have  seen  the  object  of  his  whole  soul  in  his  eye,  as  I 
have  seen  it  a  hundred  times  before.  He  will  kill  you — he  AYI!! 
kill  us  both,  Edward  Conway,  but  he  will  have  revenge !" 

"  Pshaw,  girl !  You  are  very  foolish.  How  can  your  father 
find  us  out  ?  How  approach  us  1  The  thought  is  folly.  As  an 
individual  he  can  only  approach  us  by  coming  into  the  line  of 
our  sentinels ;  these  disarm  him,  and  he  then  might  look  upon 
us,  in  each  other's  arms,  without  being  able  to  do  us  any  injury." 

"Do  not  speak  so,  Edward,  for  God's  sake  ! — in  each  other's 
arms  no  longer — no  more!" — and  a  sort  of  shivering  horror 
passed  over  her  frame  as  she  spoke  these  words. 

"As  you  please !"  muttered  the  outlaw,  with  an  air  and  smile 
of  scornful  indifference.  The  girl  proceeded — 

"  But,  even  without  weapons,  the  sight  of  my  father — the 
look  of  his  eyes  upon  mine — would  kill  me — would  be  worse 
than  any  sort  of  death  !  Oh,  God !  let  me  never  see  him  more ! 
Let  him  never  see  me — the  child  that  has  lost  him,  lost  herself, 
and  is  bringing  his  gray  hairs  in  sorrow  to  the  grave." 

"  Mary  Clarkson,  who  do  you  think  to  cheat  with  all  this  hy- 
pocrisy of  sentiment  ?  Don't  I  know  that  all  those  fine  words 
and  phrases  are  picked  out  of  books.  This  talk  is  too  customary 
to  be  true." 

"  They  may  be  ! — they  were  books,  Edward  Conway,  which 
you  brought  me,  and  which  I  loved  to  read  for  your  sake. 
Alas  !  I  did  not  follow  their  lessons." 

"  Enough  of  this  stuff,  and  now  to  the  common  sense  of  this 
business.  You  have  seen  your  father,  you  s*ry  ;  where  V' 


170  THE   SCOUT. 

"  On  the  Wateree ;  the  dayjbefore  yon  came  back  from  your 
brother  in  the  swamp  !" 

"Brother  me  no  brothers !"  exclaimed  the  outlaw  fiercely ; 
"  and  look  you,  girl,  have  I  not  told  you  a  thousand  times  that 
I  wish  not  to  be  called  Conway.  Call  me  Morton,  Cunningham, 
John  Stuart,  or  the  devil — or  any  of  the  hundred  names  by 
which  my  enemies  distinguish  me  and  denominate  my  deeds ; 
but  call  me  not  by  the  name  of  Conway.  I,  too,  have  some- 
thing filial  in  my  nature  ;  and  if  you  wish  not  to  see  the  father 
yoji  have  offended,  perhaps  it  is  for  the  same  reason  that  I  would 
not  hear  the  name  of  mine.  Let  that  dutiful  reason  content  you 
— it  may  be  that  I  have  others ;  but  these  we  will  forbear  for 
the  present.  What  of  Jacob  Clarkson,  when  you  saw  him  ? 
Where  was  he? — how  employed? — and  where  were  you,  and 
who  with  you  V9 

"  Oh,  God !  I  was  fearfully  nigh  to  him,  and  he  saw  me  !  — 
He  fixed  his  keen,  cold,  deathly  eye  upon  me,  and  I  thought  I 
should  have  sunk  under  it.  I  thought  he  knew  me ;  but  how 
could  he  in  such  a  guise  as  this,  and  looking,  as  I  do,  pale,  with- 
ered, and  broken  down  with  sin  and  suffering." 

"  Pshaw  !     Where  was  all  this  ?" 

"  At  Isaac's  tavern.  There  was  none  there  beside  myself  and 
Isaac.  He  came  in  and  asked  for  a  calabash  of  water.  He 
-would  drink  nothing,  though  Muggs  kindly  offered  him,  but  he 
would  not.  He  looked  at  me  only  for  an  instant ;  but  it  seemed 
to  me,  in  that  instant,  that  he  looked  through  and  through  my 
soul.  He  said  nothing  to  me,  and  hardly  anything  to  Isaac — 
though  he  asked  him  several-  questions  ;  anjl  when  he  drank  the 
water,  and  rested  for  a  little  while,  he  went  away.  But,  while 
he  stayed,  I  thought  I  should  have  died.  I  could  have  buried 
myself  in  the  earth  to  escape  his  sight ;  and  yet  how  I  longed 
to  throw  myself  at  his  feet,  and  beg  for  mercy  !  Could  I  have 
done  that,  I  think  I  should  have  been  happy.  I  should  have 
been  willing  then  to  die.  But  I  dared  not.  He  hadn't  a  human 
look — he  didn't  seem  to  feel ; — and  I  feared  that  he  might  kill 
me  without  hearkening  to  my  prayer." 

"  Muggs  should  have  told  me  of  this,"  said  the  other,  musingly. 


GLIMPSES   OF   PASSION   AND    ITS    FRUITS.  "  1 

"  He  must  have  forgot  it,  on^account  of  the  uproar  and  great 
confusion  afterward." 

"  That  is  no  good  reason  for  a  cool  fellow  like  him.  I  must 
see  into  it.  It  was  a  strange  omission." 

"  But  what  will  you  do,  Edward — where  shall  we  fly  ?" 

"Fly!  where  should  we  fly — and  why?  Because  of  your 
father  1  Have  I  not  already  told  you  that  he  can  not  approach 
us  to  do  harm ;  and,  as  for  discovering  us,  have  you  not  seen 
that  he  looked  upon  his  own  child  without  knowing  her ;  and 
I'm  sure  he  can  never  recollect  me  as  the  man  who  once  helped 
him  to  provide  for  the  only  undutiful  child  he  had." 

"  Spare  me !  Be  not  so  cruel  in  your  words,  Edward,  for,  of 
a  truth,  though  I  may  escape  the  vengeance  of  my  father,  I  feel 
certain  that  I  have  not  long — not  very  long — to  live." 

"Nor  I,  Mary;  so,  while  life  lasts,  let  us  be  up  and  doing !" 
was  the  cold-blooded  reply,  as,  starting  to  his  feet,  as  if  with  the 
desire  to  avoid  further  conference  on  an  annoying  subject,  he 
prepared  to  leave  the  spot  where  it  had  taken  place. 

Her  lips  moved,  but  she  spoke  not.  Her  hands  were  clasped, 
but  the  entreaty  which  they  expressed  was  lost  equally  upon' 
his  eyes  and  heart ;  and  if  she  meant  to  pray  to  him  for  a  fur- 
ther hearing,  her  desire  was  unexpressed  in  any  stronger  form. 
By  him  it  remained  unnoticed.  Was  it  unnoticed  by  the  over- 
looking and  observant  God! — for,  to  him,  when  the  other  had 
gone  from  sight  and  hearing,  were  her  prayers  then  offered, 
with,  seemingly,  all  the  sincerity  of  a  broken  and  a  contrite 
spirit. 


172  THE   SCOUT. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  GLIMPSE  OF  BRIER   PARK  :    THE    OATH    OF   THE   BLACK    RIDERS. 

BY  evening  of  the  same  day,  the  scouts  made  their  appear- 
ance, and  their  reports  were  such  as  to  determine  the  captain 
of  the  Black  Riders  to  cross  the  Congaree  and  pursue  his  ob- 
jects, whatever  they  might  be,  along  its  southern  banks.  Suf- 
ficient time  for  rest  had  been  allotted  to  his  troop.  He  believed 
they  had  employed  it  as  assigned ;  little  dreaming  how  busy 
some  of  them  had  been,  in  the  concoction  of  schemes,  which,  if 
in  character  not  unlike  his  own,  were  scarcely  such  as  were 
congenial  with  his  authority  or  his  desires.  But  these  are  mat- 
ters for  the  future. 

Though  resolved  on  crossing  the  river,  yet,  as  the  chosen 
ferry  lay  several  miles  below,  it  became  necessary  to  sound  to 
horse ;  and,  about  dusk,  the  troop  was  again  put  in  motion,  and 
continued  on  their  route  till  midnight. 

They  had  compassed  but  a  moderate  distance  in  this  space  of 
time,  moving  as  they  did  with  great  precaution  ;  slowly  of  course, 
as  was  necessary  while  traversing  a  country  supposed  to  be  in 
the  full  possession  of  an  enemy,  and  over  roads,  which,  in  those 
days,  were  neither  very  distinct,  nor  fairly  open,  nor  in  the  best 
condition.  They  reached  the  ferry,  but  halted  for  the  remainder 
of  the  night  without  making  any  effort  to  cross. 

At  the  dawn  of  day,  Mary  Clarkson,  still  seemingly  a  boy, 
was  one  of  the  first,  stealing  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  to 
remark  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  prospect  which  on  every  side 
opened  upon  her  eye.  The  encampment  of  the  Black  Riders 
had  been  made  along  the  river  bluff,  but  sufficiently  removed 
from  its  edge  to  yield  the  requisite  degree  of  woodland  shelter. 
The  spot  chosen  for  the  purpose  was  a  ridge  unusually  elevated 
for  that  portion  of  the  stream,  which  is  commonly  skirted  by  an 
alluvial  bottom  of  the  richest  swamp  undergrowth.  This,  on 


A   GLIMPSE   OP   BRIER   PARK.  173 

either  hand,  lay  below,  while  the  river,  winding  upon  its  way  in 
the  foreground,  was  as  meek  and  placid  as  if  it  never  knew 
obstacle  or  interruption. 

Yet,  but  a  few  miles  above,  how  constant  had  been  its  strife 
with  the  rocks — how  unceasing  its  warring  clamors.  But  a  few 
of  these  obstructions,  and  these  were  obstructions  in  appearance 
only,  occurred  immediately  at  the  point  before  us ;  and  these, 
borne  down  by  the  violence  of  the  conflict  carried  on  above, 
might  seem  rather  the  trophies  of  its  own  triumph,  which  the 
river  brought  away  with  it  in  its  downward  progress — serving 
rather  to  overcome  the  monotony  of  its  surface,  and  increase  the 
picturesque  of  its  prospect,  than  as  offering  any  new  obstacle, 
or  as  provoking  to  any  farther  strife.  Its  waters  broke  with  a 
gentle  violence  on  their  rugged  tops,  and  passed  over  and  around 
them  with  a  slight  murmur,  which  was  quite  as  clearly  a  mur- 
mur of  merriment  as  one  of  annoyance. 

Around,  the  foliage  grew  still  in  primitive  simplicity.  There, 
the  long-leafed  pine,  itself  the  evidence  of  a  forest  undishonored 
by  the  axe,  reared  its  lofty  brow,  soaring  and  stooping,  a  giant 
surveying  his  domain.  About  him,  not  inferior  in  pride  and  ma- 
jesty, though  perhaps  inferior  in  height,  were  a  numerous  growth 
of  oaks,  of  all  the  varieties  common  to  the  region; — tributary, 
as  beauty  still  must  ever  be  to  strength,  were  the  rich  and  vari- 
ous hues  of  the  bay,  the  poplar,  the  dogwood,  and  the  red  bud 
of  the  sassafras  —  all  growing  and  blooming  in  a  profligate  luxu- 
riance, unappreciated  and  unemployed,  as  if  the  tastes  of  the 
Deity,  quite  as  active  as  his  benevolence,  found  their  own  suf- 
ficient exercise  in  the  contemplation  of  such  a  treasure,  though 
man  himself  were  never  to  be  created  for  its  future  enjoyment. 

But  beyond  lay  a  prospect  in  which  art,  though  co-operating  with 
nature  to  the  same  end,  had  proved  herself  a  dangerous  rival. 
Stretching  across  the  stream,  the  eye  took  in,  at  a  glance,  the  terri- 
tory of  one  of  those  proud  baronial  privileges  of  Carolina — the  seat 
of  one  of  her  short-lived  nobility — broad  fields,  smooth-shaven 
lawns,  green  meadows  melting  away  into  the  embrace  of  the  brown 
woods — fair  gardens — inoss-covered  and  solemn  groves;  and  in 
the  midst  of  all,  and  over  all — standing  upon  the  crown  of  a  gently 
sloping  hill,  one  of  those  stern,  strong,  frowning  fabrics  of  the  olden 


174  THE   SCOUT. 

time,  wliicli  our  ancestors  devised  to  answer  the  threefold  pur- 
poses of  the  dwelling,  the  chapel,  arid  the  castle  for  defence. 

There,  when  the  courage  of  the  frontier-men  first  broke 
ground,  and  took  possession,  among  the  wild  and  warlike  hunt- 
ers of  the  Saiitee,  the  Congaree,  and  the  Saluda,  did  the  gallant 
General  Middleton  plant  his  towers,  amidst  a  region  of  great 
perils,  but  of  great  natural  beauty.  With  fearless  soul,  he  united 
an  exquisite  taste,  and  for  its  indulgence  he  was  not  unwilling 
to  encounter  the  perils  of  the  remote  wilderness  to  which  he 
went.  Perhaps,  too,  the  picturesque  of  the  scenery  was  height- 
ened to  his  mind  by  the  dangers  which  were  supposed  to  envi- 
ron it ;  and  the  forest  whose  frowning  shades  discouraged  most 
others,  did  not  lose  any  of  its  attractions  in  his  sight,  because  it 
sometimes  tasked  him  to  defend  his  possessions  by  the  strong 
arm  and  the  ready  weapon.  The  bear  disputed  with  him  the 
possession  of  the  honey-tree ;  and  the  red  man,  starting  up,  at 
evening,  from  the  thicket,  not  unfrequently  roused  him  with  his 
fearful  halloo,  to  betake  himself  to  those  defences,  which  made 
his  habitation  a  fortress  no  less  than  a  dwelling. 

But  these,  which  are  difficulties  to  the  slothful,  and  terrors  to 
the  iimid,  gave  a  zest  to  adventure,  which  sweetens  enterprise 
in  the  estimation  of  the  brave ;  and  it  did  not  lessen  the  value 
of  Brier  Park  to  its  first  proprietor  because  he  was  sometimes 
driven  to  stand  a  siege  from  the  red  men  of  the  Congaree. 

But  the  red  men  disappeared,  and  with  them  the  daring  ad- 
venturer who  planted  his  stakes,  among  the  first,  in  the  bosom 
of  their  wild  possessions.  He,  too,  followed  them  at  the  ap- 
pointed season  ;  and  his  proud  old  domains  fell  into  the  hands 
of  gentler  proprietors.  Under  the  countenance  of  her  venerable 
grandmother,  Flora  Middleton — truly  a  rose  in  the  wilderness 
— blossomed  almost  alone ;  at  a  time  when  the  region  in  which 
the  barony  stood,  was  covered  with  worse  savages  than  even  the 
Congarees  had  been  in  the  days  of  their  greatest  license. 

But  the  besom  of  war — which  swept  the  country  as  with 
flame  and  sword — had  paused  in  its  ravages  at  this  venerated 
threshold.  With  whig  and  tory  alike,  the  name  of  old  General 
Middleton,  the  patriarch  of  the  Congaree  country,  was  held 
equally  sacred; — and  the  lovely  granddaughter  who  inherited 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   BRIER  PARK.  JTO 

his  wealth,  though  celebrated  equally  as  a  belle  and  a  rebel, 
was  suffered  to  hold  her  estates  and  opinions  without  paying 
those  heavy  penalties  wrhich,  in  those  days,  the  possession  of 
either  was  very  likely  to  incur. 

Some  trifling  exceptions  to  this  general  condition  of  indul- 
gence might  occasionally  take  place.  Sometimes  a  marauding 
party  trespassed  upon  the  hen-roost,  or  made  a  bolder  foray  into 
the  cattle-yard  and  storehouses ;  but  these  petty  depredations 
sunk  out  of  sight  in  comparison  with  the  general  state  of  inse- 
curity and  robbery  which  prevailed  everywhere  else. 

The  more  serious  annoyances  to  which  the*  inhabitants  of 
Brier  Park  were  subject,  arose  from  the  involuntary  hospitality 
which  they  were  compelled  to  exercise  toward  the  enemies  of 
their  country.  Flora  Middleton  had  been  forced  to  receive  with 
courtesy  the  "amiable"  Cornwallis,  and  the  brutal  Ferguson; 
and  to  listen  with  complacency  to  words  of  softened  courtesy 
and  compliment  from  lips  which  had  just  before  commanded 
to  the  halter  a  score  of  her  countrymen,  innocent  of  all  offence, 
except  that  of  defending,  with  the  spirit  of  manhood  and  filial 
love,  the  soil  which  gave  them  birth.  The  equally  sanguinary 
and  even  more  stern  Rawdon — the  savage  Tarleton,  and  Jhe 
fierce  and  malignant  Cunningham,  had  also  been  her  uninvited 
guests,  to  whom  she  had  done  the  honors  of  the  house  with  the 
grace  and  spirit  natural  to  her  name  and  education,  but  never  at 
the  expense  of  her  patriotism. 

"My  fair  foe,  Flora,"  was  the  phrase  with  which — with  un- 
accustomed urbanity  of  temper,  Lord  Cornwallis  was  wont  to 
acknowledge,  but  never  to  resent,  in  any  other  way — the  bold- 
ness of  her  spoken  sentiments.  These  she  declared  with  equal 
modesty  and  firmness,  whenever  their  expression  became  neces- 
sary ;  and,  keen  as  might  be  her  sarcasm,  it  bore  with  it  its  own 
antidote,  in  the  quiet,  subdued,  ladylike  tone  in  which  it  was  ut- 
tered, and  the  courteous  manner  which  accompanied  it.  Grace 
and  beauty  may  violate  many  laws  with  impunity,  and  praise, 
not  punishment,  will  still  follow  the  offender. 

Such  was  the  happy  fortune  of  Flora  Middleton — one  of  those 
youthful  beauties  of  Carolina,  whose  wit,  whose  sentiment,  pride 
and  patriotism,  acknowledged  equally  by  friend  and  foe,  exer- 


176  THE   SCOUT. 

cised  a  wondrous  influence  over  the  events  of  the  war,  which  is 
yet  to  be  put  on  record  in  a  becoming  manner. 

The  poor  outcast,  Mary  Clarkson — a  beauty,  also,  at  one 
time,  in  her  rustic  sphere,  and  one  who~se  sensibilities  had  been 
unhappily  heightened  by  the  very  arts  employed  by  her  sedu- 
cer to  effect  her  ruin — gazed,  with  a  mournful  sentiment  of  sat- 
isfaction, at  the  sweet  and  picturesque  beauty  of  the  scene.  Al- 
ready was  she  beginning  to  lose  herself  in  that  dreamy  languor 
of  thought  which  hope  itself  suggests  to  the  unhappy  as  a 
means  to  escape  from  wo,  when  she  found  her  reckless  betrayer 
suddenly  standing  by  her  side. 

"Ha,  Mary,  you  are  on  the  look-out,  I  see — you  have  a 
taste,  I  know.  What  think  you  of  the  plantations  opposite  ? 
See  how  beautifully  the  lawn  slopes  up  from  the  river  to  the 
foot  of  the  old  castle,  a  glimpse  of  whose  gloomy,  frowning  vis- 
age, meets  your  eye  through  that  noble  grove  of  water  oaks 
that  link  their  arms  across  the  passage  and  conceal  two  thirds  — 
no  less  —  of  the  huge  fabric  to  which  they  lead.  There  now,  to 
the  right,  what  a  splendid  field  of  corn — what  an  ocean  of  green 
leaves.  On  the  left  do  you  see  a  clump  of  oaks  and  sycamores 
— there,  to  itself,  away — a  close,  dense  clump,  on  a  little  hil- 
lock, itself  a  sort  of  emerald  in  the  clearing  around  it.  There 
stands  the  vault — the  tomb  of  the  Middleton  family.  Old  Mid- 
dleton  himself  sleeps  there,  if  he  can  be  said  to  sleep  at  all ;  for 
they  tell  strange  stories  of  his  nightly  rambles  after  wolves  and 
copper-skins.  You  may  see  a  small  gray  spot,  like  a  chink  of 
light,  peeping  out  of  the  grove — that  is  the  tomb.  It  is  a  huge, 
square  apartment  —  I  have  been  in  it  more  than  once  —  partly 
beneath  and  partly  above  the  ground.  It  has  hid  many  more 
living  than  it  will  ever  hold  dead  men.  I  owe  it  thanks  for 
more  than  one  concealment  myself." 

"You?" 

"  Yes  !  I  have  had  a  very  comfortable  night's  rest  in  it,  all 
things  considered ;  and  the  probability  is  not  small  that  we  shall 
take  our  sleep  in  it  to-night.  How  like  you  the  prospect "?" 

The  girl  shuddered.  He  did  not  care  for  any  other  answer, 
but  proceeded. 

"  In  that  old  cage  of  Middleton  there  is  a  bird  of  sweetest 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   BRIER   PARK.  177 

song,  whom  I  would  set  free.  Do  you  guess  what  I  mean, 
Mary  ?" 

The  girl  confessed  her  ignorance. 

"  You  are  dull,  Mary,  but  you  shall  grow  wiser  before  long. 
Enough  for  the  present.  We  must  set  the  troop  in  motion.  A 
short  mile  below  and  we  find  our  crossing  place,  and  then  — 
hark  you,  Mary,  you  must  keep  a  good  look-out  to-night.  If 
there  was  mischief  yesterday,  it  is  not  yet  cured.  There  is  more 
to-day.  I  shall  expect  you  to  watch  to-night,  while  I  prey''' 

He  chuckled  at  the  passing  attempt  at  a  sort  of  wit,  in  which, 
to  do  him  justice,  he  did  not  often  indulge,  and  the  point  of 
which  his  companion  did  not  perceive;  then  continued  — 

"  Perhaps  it  should  be  '  prowl'  rather  than  watch.  Though, 
to  prowl  well  requires  the  best  of  watching.  You  must  do  both. 
You  prowb  while  I  prey — do  you  understand?" 

He  had  given  a  new  form  to  his  phrase,  by  which  he  made 
his  humor  obvious  •  and,  satisfied  with  this,  he  proceeded  more 
seriously — 

"  Give  up  your  dumps,  girl.  It  will  not  be  the  worse  for 
you  that  things  turn  out  to  please  me.  These  rascals  must 
be  watched,  and  I  can  now  trust  none  to  watch  them  but  your- 
self." 

At  this  confession,  her  reproachful  eyes  were  turned  full  and 
keenly  upon  him.  He  had  betrayed  the  trust  of  the  only  being 
in  whom  he  could  place  his  own.  What  a  commentary  on  his 
crime,  on  his  cruel  indifference  to  the  victim  of  it !  He  saw  in 
her  eyes  the  meaning  which  her  lips  did  not  declare. 

"  Yes,  it  is  even  so,"  he  said ;  "  and  women  were  made  for 
this,  and  they  must  expect  it.  Born  to  be  dependants,  it  is 
enough  that  we  employ  you ;  and  if  your  expectations  were 
fewer  and  humbler,  your  chance  for  happiness  would  be  far 
greater.  Content  yourself  now  with  the  conviction  that  you 
have  a  share  in  my  favor,  and  all  will  go  well  with  you.  The 
regards  of  a  man  are  not  to  be  contracted  to  the  frail  and  un- 
satisfying compass  of  one  girl's  heart ;  unless,  indeed,  as  you  all 
seem  to  fancy,  that  love  is  the  sole  business  of  a  long  life.  Love 
is  very  well  for  boys  and  girls,  but  it  furnishes  neither  the  food 
nor  the  exercise  for  manhood.  If  you  expect  it,  you  live  in 

8* 


178  THE  SCOUT. 

vain.  Your  food  must  be  the  memories  of  your  former  luxuries. 
Let  it  satisfy  you,  Mary,  that  I  loved  you  once." 

"  Never,  Edward — you  never  loved  me ;  not  even  when  my 
confidence  in  your  love  lost  me  the  love  of  all  other  persons. 
This  knowledge  I  have  learned  by  knowing  how  I  have  myself 
loved,  and  by  comparing  my  feelings  with  the  signs  of  love  in 
you.  In  learning  to  know  how  little  I  have  been  loved,  I  made 
the  discovery  of  your  utter  incapacity  to  love." 

"And  why,  pray  you?"  he  demanded,  with  some  pique;  but 
the  girl  did  not  answer.  He  saw  her  reluctance,  and  framed 
another  question. 

"  And  why,  then,  after  this  discovery,  do  you  still  love  me, 
and  cling  to  me,  and  complain  of  me  ?" 

"  Alas  !  I  know  not  why  I  love  you.  That,  indeed,  is  beyond 
me  to  learn.  I  have  sought  to  know — I  have  tried  to  think — 
I  have  asked,  but  in  vain,  of  my  own  mind  and  heart.  I  cling 
to  you  because  I  can  cling  nowhere  else ;  and  you  have  yourself 
said  that  a  woman  is  a  dependant — she  must  cling  somewhere  ! 
The  vine  clings  to  the  tree  though  it  knows  that  all  its  heart  is 
rotten.  As  for  complaint,  God  knows  I  do  not  come  to  make  it 
—  I  do  not  wish,  but  I  can  not  help  it.  I  weep  and  moan  from 
weakness  only,  I  believe,  and  I  shall  soon  be  done  moaning." 

"  Enough  —  I  see  which  way  you  tend  now.  You  are  foolish, 
Mary  Clarkson,  and  war  with  your  own  peace.  Can  you  never 
be  reconciled  to  what  is  inevitable — what  you  can  no  longer 
avoid  1  Make  the  best  of  your  condition — what  is  done  can't 
be  amended ;  and  the  sooner  you  show  me  that  you  can  yield 
yourself  to  your  fate  with  some  grace,  the  more  certain  and  soon 
will  be  the  grace  bestowed  in  turn.  You  are  useful  to  me,  Mary ; 
and  as  women  are  useful  to  men — grown  men,  mark  me  —  so  do 
they  value  them.  When  I  say  'useful,'  remember  the  word  is 
a  comprehensive  one.  You  may  be  useful  in  love,  in  the  pro- 
motion of  fortune,  revenge,  ambition,  hope,  enterprise  —  a  thou- 
sand things  and  objects,  in  which  exercise  will  elevate  equally 
your  character  and  condition.  Enough,  now.  You  must  show 
your  usefulness  to-night.  I  go  on  a  business  of  peril,  and  I 
must  go  alone.  But  I  will  take  you  with  me  a  part  of  the  way, 
and  out  of  sight  of  the  encampment.  To  the  encampment  you 


A   GLIMPSE   OP  BEIER   PARK.  179 

must  return,  however,  and  with  such  precaution  as  to  keep  un- 
seen. I  need  not  counsel  you  any  further — your  talents  clearly 
lie  that  way.  Love  is  a  sorry  business  —  a  sort  of  sickness — 
perhaps  the  natural  complaint  of  overgrown  babies  of  both  sexes, 
who  should  be  dosed  with  caudle  and  put  to  bed  as  soon  after 
as  possible.  Do  you  hear,  child  ]  Do  you  understand  ?" 

Thus  substantially  ended  this  conference — the  singular  terms 
of  which,  and  the  relation  between  the  parties,  can  only  be  un- 
derstood by  remembering  that  sad  condition  of  dependence  in 
which  the  unhappy  girl  stood  to  her  betrayer.  She  was  hope- 
less of  any  change  of  fortune — she  knew  not  where  to  turn — 
she  now  had  no  other  objects  to  which  she  might  presume  to 
cling.  She  remembered  the  humbler  love  of  John  Bannister 
with  a  sigh — the  roof  and  the  affections  of  her  father  with  a 
thrill,  which  carried  a  cold  horror  through  all  her  veins.  A 
natural  instinct  turned  her  to  the  only  one  upon  whom  she  had 
any  claim  —  a  claim  still  indisputable,  though  it  might  be  scorned 
or  denied  by  him ;  and,  without  being  satisfied  of  the  truth  of 
his  arguments,  she  was  willing,  as  he  required,  to  be  useful,  that 
she  might  not  be  forgotten. 

While  the  troop  was  preparing  to  cross  the  river,  it  was  joined, 
to  the  surprise  of  everybody  and  the  chagrin  of  its  commander, 
by  the  refractory  lieutenant,  Stockton. 

He  related  the  events  which  occurred  to  him  somewhat  dif- 
ferently from  the  truth.  According  to  his  version  of  the  story, 
the  guard  to  whom  he  had  been  intrusted  was  attacked  by  a 
superior  force,  beaten,  and  probably  slain — he  himself  season- 
ably escaping  to  tell  the  story.  It  was  fancied  by  himself  and 
friends  that  his  narrow  escape  and  voluntary  return  to  his  duty 
would  lessen  his  offence  in  the  eye  of  the  chief,  and  probably 
relieve  him  from  all  the  consequences  threatened  in  his  recent 
arrest. 

But  the  latter  was  too  jealous  of  the  disaffection  prevailing 
among  his  men,  and  too  confident  in  the  beneficial  influence  of 
sternness  among  inferiors,  to  relax  the^neasure  of  a  hair  in  the 
exercise  of  his  authority.  He  at  oncV  committed  the  traitor  a 
close  prisoner,  to  the  care  of  two  of  his  most  trusty  adherents ; 
and  resolutely  rejected  the  applications  offered  in  his  behalf  by 


180  THE  SCOUT. 

some  of  the  temporizers — a  class  of  persons  of  whom  the  Black 
Riders,  like  every  other  human  community,  had  a  fair  propor- 
tion. 

The  river  was  crossed  a  few  miles  below  the  Middleton  Bar- 
ony. A  deep  thicket  in  the  forest,  and  on  the  edge  of  the  river 
swamp,  was  chosen  for  their  bivouac ;  and  there,  closely  con- 
cealed from  casual  observation,  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders, 
with  his  dark  banditti,  awaited  till  the  approach  of  night,  in  a 
condition  of  becoming  quiet.  He  then  prepared  to  go  forth, 
alone,  on  his  expedition  to  the  barony ;  and  it  was  with  some 
surprise,  though  without  suspicion  of  the  cause,  that  Mary  Clark- 
son  perceived,  on  his  setting  out,  that  he  had  discarded  all  his 
customary  disguises,  and  had  really  been  paying  some  little  un- 
usual attention  to  the  arts  of  the  toilet.  The  black  and  savage 
beard  and  whiskers,  as  worn  by  the  troopers  generally — a 
massive  specimen  of  which  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Supple 
Jack  on  a  previous  occasion — had  disappeared  from  his  face; 
his  sable  -uniform  had  given  place  to  a  well-fitting  suit  of  becom- 
ing blue  ;  and,. of  the  costume  of  the  troop,  nothing  remained 
but  the  dark  belt  which  encircled  his  waist. 

Mary  Clarkson  was  not  naturally  a  suspicious  person,  nor  of  a 
jealous  temper ;  and  the  first  observation  which  noticed  these 
changes  occasioned  not  even  a  surmise  in  relation  to  their  ob- 
ject. She  obeyed  his  intimation  to  follow  him  as  he  prepared 
to  take  his  departure ;  and,  availing  herself  of  the  momentary 
diversion  of  such  of  the  band  as  were  about  her  at  the  moment, 
she  stole  away  and  joined  him  at  a  little  distance  from  the  camp, 
where  she  received  his  instructions  as  to  the  game  which  he 
required  her  to  play. 

The  quiet  in  which  Morton  had  left  his  followers  did  not  long 
continue  after  his  departure.  The  insubordinates  availed  them- 
selves of  his  absence  to  try  their  strength  in  a  bolder  measure 
than  they  had  before  attempted ;  and  a  body  of  them,  rising 
tumultuously,  rushed  upon  the  guard  to  whom  Stockton  had 
been  given  in  charge,^§nd,  overawing  all  opposition  by  their 
superior  numbers,  forcibly  rescued  him  from  his  bonds. 

Ensign  Darcy  was  the  leader  of  this  party.  He  had  found  it 
no  difficulty  to  unite  them  in  a  measure  which  they  boldly  as- 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  BRIER  PARK.  181 

sumed  to  be  an  act  of  justice,  levelled  at  a  species  of  tyranny 
to  which  they  ought  never  to  submit.  Disaffection  had  spread 
much  further  among  his  troop  than  Edward  Morton  imagined. 
Disasters  had  made  them  forgetful  of  ancient  ties,  as  well  as 
previous  successes.  Recently,  their  spoils  had  been  few  and 
inconsiderable,  their  toils  constant  and  severe,  and  their  dangers 
great.  This  state  of  things  inclined  them  all,  in  a  greater  or 
less  degree,  to  be  dissatisfied ;  and  nothing  is  so  easy  to  vulgar 
minds,  as  to  ascribe  to  the  power  which  governs,  all  the  evils 
which  afflict  them. 

The  leaders  of  the  meeting  availed  themselves  of  this  natural 
tendency  with  considerable  art.  The  more  ignorant  and  unthink- 
ing were  taught  to  believe  that  their  chief  had  mismanaged  in  a 
dozen  instances,  where  a  different  course  of  conduct  would  have 
burdened  them  with  spoils.  He  had  operated  on  the  Wateree 
and  Santee,  when  the  Congaree  and  the  Saluda  offered  the  best 
field  for  the  exercise  of  their  peculiar  practices. 

That  "  frail  masquer,"  to  whom  the  cold-blooded  Morton  had 
given  in  charge  the  whole  espionage  which  he  now  kept  upon 
his  troop,  came  upon  their  place  of  secret  consultation  at  a  mo- 
ment auspicious  enough  for  the  objects  of  her  watch.  They  had 
assembled --that  is,  such  of  the  band  (and  this  involved  a  ma- 
jority) as  were  disposed  to  rebel  against  their  present  leader — 
in  a  little  green  dell,  beside  a  rivulet  which  passed  from  the 
highlands  of  the  forest  into  the  swamp.  Here  they  had  kindled 
a  small  fire,  enough  to  give  light  to  their  deliberations;  had 
lighted  their  pipes,  and,  from  their  canteens,  were  seasoning 
their  deliberations  with  the  requisite  degree  and  kind  of  spirit. 
With  that  carelessness  of  all  precautions  which  is  apt  to  follow 
any  decisive  departure  from  the  usual  restraints  of  authority, 
they  had  neglected  to  place  sentries  around  their  place  of  con- 
ference, who  might  report  the  approach  of  any  hostile  footstep ; 
or,  if  these  had  been  placed  at  the  beginning,  they  had  been 
beguiled  by  the  temptations  of  the  debate  and  the  drink  to  leave 
their  stations,  and  take  their  seats  along  with  their  comrades. 

Mary  Clarkson  was  thus  enabled  to  steal  within  easy  hearing 
of  all  their  deliberations.  Stockton,  with  exemplary  forbearance 
and  a  reserve  that  was  meant  to  be  dignified,  did  not  take  much 


182  THE  SCOUT. 

part  in  the  proceedings.  Ensign  Darcy,  however,  was  faithful 
to  his  old  professions,  and  was  the  principal  speaker.  He  it  was 
who  could  best  declare  what,  in  particular,  had  been  the  omis- 
sions of  the  chief;  and  by  what  mistakes  he  had  led  the  troop 
from  point  to  point,  giving  them  no  rest,  little  food,  and  haras- 
sing them  with  constant  dangers  and  alarms. 

The  extent  of  his  information  surprised  the  faithful  listener, 
and  informed  her  also  of  some  matters  which  she  certainly  did 
not  expect  to  hear. 

Darcy  was  supported  chiefly  by  the  huge  fellow  already 
known  by  the  name  of  Barton — the  same  person  who  had  led 
the  insubordinates  in  Muggs'  cabin,  when  Edward  Morton,  at 
the  last  moment,  sprang  up  to  the  rescue  of  his  kinsman.  This 
ruffian,  whose  violence  then  had  offered  opposition  to  his  leader, 
and  could  only  be  suppressed  by  the  show  of  an  equal  violence 
on  the  part  of  the  latter,  had  never  been  entirely  satisfied  with 
himself  since  that  occasion.  He  was  one  of  those  humble- 
minded  persons  of  whom  the  world  is  so  full,  who  are  always 
asking  what  their  neighbors  think  of  them ;  amj  being  a  sort  of 
braggart  and  bully,  he  was  annoyed  by  a  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing lost  some  portion  of  the  esteem  of  his  comrades  by  the 
comparatively  easy  submission  which  he  then  rendered  to  his 
leader.  This  idea  haunted  him,  and  he  burned  for  some  oppor- 
tunity to  restore  himself  in  their  wonted  regards.  Darcy  dis- 
covered this,  and  worked  upon  the  fool's  frailty  to  such  a 
degree,  that  he  was  persuaded  to  take  the  lead  in  the  work  of 
mutiny,  and  to  address  his  specious  arguments  to  those  doubtful 
persons  of  the  gang  whom  the  fox-like  properties  of  the  ensign 
would  never  have  suffered  him  directly  to  approach.  Their 
modes  of  convincing  the  rest  were  easy  enough,  since  their  ar- 
guments were  plausible,  if  not  true,  and  there  was  some  founda- 
tion for  many  of  the  objections  urged  against  their  present  com- 
mander. 

"  Here,  for  example,"  said  Darcy ;  "  here  he  comes  to  play 
the  lover  at  Middleton  place.  He  dodges  about  the  young 
woman  when  it  suits  him ;  and  either  we  follow  him  here,  and 
hang  about  to  keep  the  rebels  from  his  skirts,  or  he  leaves  us 
where  we  neither  hear  nor  see  anything  of  him  for  weeks. 


THE   OATH   OF   THE   BLACK   RIDERS.  183 

Meanwhile,  we  can  do  nothing — we  dare  not  move  without 
him  ;  and  if  we  do  any  creditable  thing,  what's  the  consequence  ? 
Lieutenant  Stockton  there  can  tell  you.  He's  knocked  over 
like  a  bullock,  and  arrested — is  attacked  by  the  rebels,  makes 
a  narrow  escape,  comes  back  like  a  good  soldier,  and  is  put 
under  arrest  again,  as  if  no  punishment  was  enough  for  showing 
the  spirit  of  a  man." 

"  Ah,  yes,  that  wra'n't  right  of  the  captain ;"  said  one  of  the 
fellows,  with  a  conclusive  shake  .of  the  head. 

"  Yes,  and  all  that  jist  after  the  lieutenant  had  been  busy  for 
five  days,  through  storm  and  rain,  looking  after  him  only,"  was 
the  addition  of  another. 

"  It's  a  God's  truth,  for  sartin,  the  captain's  a  mighty  changed 
man  now-a-days,"  said  a  third. 

"  He  ain't  the  same  person,  that's  a  cl'ar,"  was  the  conviction 
of  a  fourth  ;  and  so  on  through  the  tale. 

"  And  who's  going  to  stand  it  ?"  cried  the  fellow  Barton,  in  a 
voice  of  thunder,  shivering  the  pipe  in  his  hand  by  a  stroke 
upon  the  earth  jjat  startled  more  than  one  of  the  doubtful. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  men — there's  no  use  to  beat  about  the 
bush  when  the  thing  can  be  made  plain  to  every  men's  onder- 
standing.  Here  it  is.  We're  in  a  mighty  bad  fix  at  present, 
any  how ;  and  the  chance  is  a  great  deal  worse,  so  long  as  we 
stand  here.  Here,  the  whigs  are  quite  too  thick  for  us  to  deal 
with.  It's  either,  we  must  go  up  to  the  mormtains  or  get  down 
toward  the  seaboard.  I'm  told  there's  good  picking  any  way. 
But  here  we've  mighty  nigh  cleaned  out  the  crib; — there's 
precious  little  left.  What's  to  keep  us  here,  I  can't  see ;  but 
it's  easy  to  see  what  keeps  Captain  Morton  here.  He's  after 
this  gal  of  Middleton's ;  and  he'll  stay,  and  peep,  and  dodge, 
and  come  and  go,  until  he  gits  his  own  neck  in  the  halter,  and 
may-be  our'n  too.  Now,  if  you're  of  my  mind,  we'll  leave  him 
to  his  gal  and  all  he  can  get  by  her,  and  take  horse  this  very 
night,  and  find  our  way  along  the  Saludah,  up  to  Ninety-Six. 
That's  my  notion ;  and,  as  a  beginning,  I'm  willing  to  say,  for 
the  first,  let  Harry  Stockton  be  our  captain  from  the  jump." 

"  Softly,  softly,  Barton,"  said  the  more  wily  Darcy ;  "  that 
•can  hardly  be,  unless  you  mean  to  put  the  garrison  of  Ninety- 


184  THE   SCOUT. 

Six  at  defiance  also.  You'll  find  it  no  easy  matter  to  show  a 
king's  commission  for  the  lieutenant;  and  it'll  be  something 
worse  if  Ned  Morton  faces  you  just  at  the  moment  when  Bal- 
four,  or  Rawdon,  or  Stuart,  or  Cruger,  has  you  under  examina- 
tion. No,  no  !  There's  no  way  of  doing  the  thing,  unless  you 
can  show  them  that  Ned  Morton's  a  dead  man  or  a  traitor.  Now, 
then,  which  shall  it  be  V1 

"  Both !"  roared  Barton.  "  I'm  for  the  dead  man  first.  We 
can  go  in  a  body  and  see  for  ourselves  that  he's  done  up  for  this 
world,  and  we  can  go  in  the  same  body  to  Cruger  at  Ninety- 
Six  and  show  that  we  want  a  captain,  and  can't  find  a  better 
man  than  Harry  Stockton." 

"  But  he  ain't  dead,"  said  one  of  the  more  simple  of  the 
tribe. 

"Who  says  he  ain't1?"  growled  the  ruffian  Barton — "when 
I  say  he  is?  He's  dead — dead  as  a  door  nail;  and  we'll 
prove  it  before  we  go  to  Cruger.  Do  you  suppose  I'm  going 
with  a  lie  in  my  mouth  ?  We  must  make  true  what  we  mean 
to  say." 

"  You're  right,  Barton,"  quietly  continued  Irnrcy ;  "  but  per- 
haps 'twould  be  well,  men,  to  let  you  know  some  things  more. 
Now,  you  must  know  that  Middleton  place  has  been  let  alone, 
almost  the  only  house,  since  the  beginning  of  the  war.  Old 
Middleton  was  a  mighty  great  favorite  among  the  people  of  all 
these  parts  when  he  was  living  ;  and  Lord  Cornwallis  hearing 
that,  he  gave  orders  not  to  do  any  harm  to  it  or  the  people  liv- 
ing there.  Well,  as  they  were  women  only,  and  had  neither 
father,  brother,  nor  son,  engaged  in  the  war,  there  was  no  provo- 
cation to  molest  them ;  and  so  things  stand  there  as  quietly  as 
they  did  in  '  seventy-five.'  In  that  house,  men,  there's  more 
good  old  stamped  plate  than  you'll  find  in  half  the  country.  I 
reckon  you  may  get  barrels  of  it,  yet  not  have  room  for  all. 
Well,  there's  the  jewels  of  the  women.  It's  a  guess  of  mine 
only,  but  I  reckon  a  safe  one,  when  I  say  that  I  have  no  doubt 
you'll  find  jewels  of  Flora  Middleton  enough  to  help  every  man 
of  us  to  the  West  Indies,  and  for  six  months  after.  Now,  it's  a 
question  whether  we  let  the  captain  carry  off  this  girl  with  all 
her  jewels,  or  whether  we  come  in  for  a  share.  It's  my  notion 


THE  OATH  OP  THE  BLACK  RIDERS.         185 

it's  that  lie's  aiming  at.  He  don't  care  a  fig  what  becomes  of  us 
if  he  can  carry  off  this  plunder,  and  this  is  the  secret  of  all  his 
doings.  I  know  he's  half  mad  after  the  girl,  and  will  have  her, 
though  he  takes  her  with  his  claws.  I  move  that  we  have  a 
hand  in  the  business.  It's  but  to  steal  up  to  Brier  Park,  get  round 
the  place,  sound  a  rebel  alarm,  and  give  him  a  shot  while  he's 
running.  After  that,  the  work's  easy.  We  can  then  pass  off 
upon  the  women  as  a  rebel  troop,  and  empty  the  closets  at  our 
leisure." 

The  temptations  of  this  counsel  were  exceeding  great.  It 
was  received  without  a  dissenting  voice,  though  there  were  sun- 
dry doubts,  yet  to  be  satisfied,  among  the  more  prudent  or  the 
more  timid. 

"  But  the  boy — that  strange  boy,  Henry.  He's  with  him. 
What's  to  be  done  with  him  ?" 

Mary  Clarkson  had  been  a  breathless  listener  during  the 
whole  of  this  conference.  Her  emotions  were  new  and  inde- 
scribable. Heretofore,  strange  to  say,  she  had  never  entertained 
the  idea,  for  a  single  instant,  of  Edward  Morton  loving  another 
woman.  She  had  never,  during  the  marauding  life  of  danger 
which  he  pursued,  beheld  him  in  any  situation  which  might 
awaken  her  female  fears.  Now,  the  unreserved  communication 
and  bold  assertion  of  Darcy,  awakened  a  novel  emotion  of 
pain  within  her  heart,  and  a  new  train  of  reflection  in  her  mind. 

"  This,  then,"  she  mused  to  herself,  as  she  recollected  the 
conversation  that  morning  with  her  seducer — <(  this,  then,  is  the 
bird  that  he  spoke  of — the  sweet  singing-bird  in  that  gloomy 
castle,  which  he  determined  to  release.  Strange  that  I  had  no 
fear,  no  thought  of  this  !  But  he  can  not  love  her — No  !  no  ! 
he  has  no  such  nature.  It  is  not  possible  for  him  to  feel  as  I 
have  felt." 

She  strove  to  listen  again,  but  she  heard  little  more.  Her 
mind  had  formed  a  vague  impression  of  his  danger,  but  it  was 
associated  with  images  equally  vague  in  form,  but  far  more  im. 
pressive  in  shadow,  of  the  fair  woman  Avhose  beauty  and  whose 
wealth  were  like  supposed  to  be  potential  over  the  rugged  chief 
of  that  fierce  banditti.  She  began  to  think,  for  the  first  time, 
that  there  was  some  reason  in  the  complainings  of  the  troop ; 


186  THE   SCOUT. 

but  their  suggestion  to  murder  the  criminal,  revived  in  all  its 
force,  if  not  her  old  passion,  at  least  her  habitual  feeling  of 
dependence  upon  him.  The  idea  of  losing  for  ever  the  one 
who,  of  all  the  world,  she  could  now  seek,  was  one  calculated 
to  awaken  all  her  most  oppressive  fears ;  and,  with  a  strong 
effort  at  composure,  she  now  bent  all  her  attention  to  ascertain 
what  were  the  precise  means  by  which  the  outlaws  proposed  to 
effect  their  objects.  The  farther  details  of  Darcy  enlightened 
her  on  this  head,  and  she  was  about  to  rise  from  her  lowly  posi- 
tion and  hiding-place,  and  steal  away  to  Brier  Place,  in  order 
to  awaken  Morton  to  his  danger,  when  the  inquiry  touching  her 
own  fate  commanded  her  attention. 

"What  of  the  boy,  Henry — what  shall  be  done  with  him] 
I'm  thinking  he's  the  one  that  reports  everything  to  the  cap- 
tain. What  shall  we  do  with  him  ?" 

"  Out  his  throat,  to  be  sure.  He  is  no  use  to  any  of  us ;  and 
if  we  silence  the  captain,  we  must  do  for  him  also.  I  reckon 
they're  together  now." 

"  The  getting  rid  of  the  boy  is  a  small  matter,"  said  Darcy ; 
"  let's  settle  about  the  principal  first,  and  the  rest  is  easily  man- 
aged. We  must  set  about  this  affair  seriously — there  must  be 
no  traitors.  We  must  swear  by  knife,  bullet,  tree,  and  halter — 
the  old  oath  ! — there  must  be  blood  on  it!  Whose  blood  shall 
it  be?" 

"  Mine  !"  exclaimed  Barton,  as  he  thrust  forth  his  brawny  arm 
to  the  stroke,  and  drew  up  the  sleeve.  Mary  Olarkson  was  still 
too  much  of  a  woman  to  wait  and  witness  the  horrid  ceremonial 
by  which  they  bound  themselves  to  one  another ;  but  she  could 
hear  the  smooth,  silvery  voice  of  Darcy,  while  she  stole  away 
on  noiseless  feet,  as  he  severally  administered  the  oath,  upon  the 
gashed  arm  of  the  confederate,  to  each  of  the  conspirators. 

"  Swear !" 

And  the  single  response  of  the  first  ruffian,  as  he  pledged 
himself,  struck  terror  to  her  heart  and  gave  fleetness  to  her 
footsteps. 

"  By  knife,  cord,  tree,  and  bullet,  I  swear  to  be  true  to  you, 
my  brothers,  in  this  business; — if  I  fail  or  betray  you,  then  let 
knife,  cord,  tree,  or  bullet,  do  its  work  ! — I  swear !" 


SOME   LOVE   PASSAGES   AT   BRIER  PARK.  187 

The  terrible  sounds  pursued  her  as  she  fledj  but  even  then 
she  forgot  not  what  she  had  heard  before,  of  that  "  sweet  sing- 
ing bird,  in  that  gloomy  cage,"  to  both  of  which  she  was  now 
approaching  with  an  equal  sentiment  of  curiosity  and  terror. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

SOME    LOVE    PASSAGES   AT    BRIER    PARK. 

MEANWHILE,  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders  pursued  his  noise- 
less way  to  the  scene  of  his  projected  operations.  Familiar  with 
the  neighborhood,  it  was  not  a  difficult  matter  for  him  to  make 
his  progress  with  sufficient  readiness  through  the  gloomy  forests. 
The  route  had  been  often  trodden  by  him  before  —  often,  indeed, 
when  the  fair  Flora  Middleton  little  dreamed  of  the  proximity 
of  her  dangerous  lover — often,  when  not  a  star  in  the  sky 
smiled  in  encouragement  upon  his  purposes. 

The  stars  were  smiling  now — the  night  was  without  a  cloud, 
unless  it  were  a  few  of  those  light,  fleecy,  transparent  robes, 
which  the  rising  moon  seems  to  fling  out  from  her  person,  and 
which  float  about  her  pathway  in  tributary  beauty ;  and  she, 
herself,  the  maiden  queen,  making  her  stately  progress  through 
her  worshipping  dominions,  rose  with  serene  aspect  and  pure 
splendor,  shooting  her  silver  arrows  on  every  side  into  the 
thicket,  which  they  sprinkled,  as  they  flew,  with  sweet,  trans- 
parent droppings,  of  a  glimmering  and  kindred  beauty  with  her 
own.  The  winds  were  whisht  or  sleeping.  The  sacred  still- 
ness of  the  sabbath  prevailed  in  the  air  and  over  the  earth, 
save  when  some  nightbird  flapped  a  drowsy  wing  among  the 
branches  which  overhung  its  nest,  or,  with  sudden  scream, 
shrunk  from  the  slanting  shafts  of  light  now  fast  falling  through 
the  forests. 

Were  these  tender  aspects  propitious  to  the  purposes  of  the 
outlaw  1  Were  those  smiles  of  loveliness  for  him  only  1  No  ! 
While  he  pursued  the  darker  passages  of  the  woods,  studiously 


188  THE  SCOUT. 

concealing  his  -person  from  the  light,  other  and  nobler  spirits 
were  abroad  enjoying  it.  Love,  of  another  sort  than  his,  was  no 
less  busy ;  and,  attended  by  whatever  success,  with  a  spirit  far 
more  worthy  of  the  gentler  influences  which  prevailed  equally 
above  the  path  of  both. 

The  outlaw  reached  the  grounds  of  the  ancient  barony.  He 
had  almost  followed  the  course  of  the  river,  and  he  now  stood 
upon  its  banks.  His  path  lay  through  an  old  field,  now  aban- 
doned, which  was  partly  overgrown  by  the  lob-lolly,  or  short- 
leafed  pine.  The  absence  of  undergrowth  made  his  progress, 
easy.  He  soon  found  himself  beside  the  solemn  grove  which 
had  grown  up,  from  immemorial  time,  in  hallowed  security 
around  the  vaulted  mansion  in  which  slept  the  remains  of  the 
venerable  casique  of  Congaree — for  such  was  old  Middleton's 
title  of  nobility.  He  penetrated  the  sacred  enclosure,  and,  as  he 
had  frequently  done  before,  examined  the  entrance  of  the  tomb, 
which  he  found  as  easy  as  usual. 

The  dead  in  the  wilderness  need  no  locks  or  bolts  for  their 
security.  There  are  no  resurrectionists  there  to  annoy  them. 
Edward  Conway  looked  about  the  vault,  but  there  he  did  not 
long  remain.  Pressing  forward,  he  approached  the  park  and 
grounds  lying  more  immediately  about  the  mansion.  Here,  a 
new  occasion  for  caution  presented  itself.  "  He  found  soldiers 
on  duty — sentinels  put  at  proper  distances;  and,  fastened  to 
the  swinging  limbs  of  half  a  dozen  trees,  as  many  dragoon 
horses. 

He  changed  his  course  and  proceeded  on  another  route,  with 
the  hope  to  approach  the  dwelling  without  observation;  but 
here  again  the  path  was  guarded.  The  watch  seemed  a  strict 
one.  The  sentinels  were  regular,  and  their  responses  so  timed, 
as  to  leave  him  no  prospect  of  passing  through  the  intervals  of 
their  rounds.  Yet,  even  if  this  had  been  allowed  him,  what 
good  could  be  effected  by  it  ?  He  could  not  hope,  himself  un- 
seen, to  approach  the  person  he  sought.  Yet  he  lingered  and 
watched,  in  the  eager  hope  to  see  by  whom  she  was  attended. 
What  guest  did  she  entertain  ? 

To  know  this,  his  curiosity  became  intense.  He  would  prob- 
ably have  risked  something  to  have  attained  this  knowledge ; 


SOME   LOVE   PASSAGES   AT   BRIER   PARK.  189 

but,  under  the  close  watch  which  environed  the  habitation,  his 
endeavor  promised  to  be  utterly  hopeless. 

This  conviction,  after  a  while,  drove  him  back  to  the  tomb, 
with  curses  on  his  lips  and  fury  in  his  heart.  He  was  not  one 
of  those  men  who  liad  known  much,  or  had  learned  to  endure 
any  disappointment ;  and  his  anger  and  anxiety  grew  almost  to 
fever  when,  after  successive  and  frequent  attempts  to  find  an 
open  passage  to  the  house,  he  was  compelled  to  give  up  the 
prospect  in  despair. 

The  guests  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  withdraw ;  the  lights  in  the 
dwelling  were  bright  and  numerous.  He  fancied,  more  than 
once,  as  he  continued  his  survey,  that  he  could  hear  the  tones 
of  Flora's  harpsichord,  as  the  winds  brought  the  sounds  in  the 
required  direction.  The  twin  instincts  of  hate  and  jealousy  in- 
formed him  who  was  the  guest  of  the  maiden.  Who  could  it  be 
but  Clarence  Conway — that  kinsman  who  seemed  born  to  be 
his  bane — to  whom  he  ascribed  the  loss  of  property  and  posi- 
tion ;  beneath  whose  superior  virtue  his  spirit  quailed,  and  to  a 
baseless  jealousy  of  whom  might,  in  truth,  be  ascribed  much  of 
the  unhappy  and  dishonorable  practices  which,  so  far,  he  had 
almost  fruitlessly  pursued.  His  was  the  jealousy  rather  of  hate 
than  love.  Perhaps,  such  a  passion  as  the  latter,  according  to 
the  opinion  of  Mary  Clarkson,  could  not  fill  the  bosom  of  one  so- 
utterly  selfish  as  Edward  Morton.  But  he  had  his  desires ;  and 
the  denial  of  his  object — which,  to  himself,  he  dignified  with 
the  name  of  love — was  quite  enough  to  provoke  his  wrath  to 
frenzy. 

"All,  all,  has  he  robbed  me  of!"  he  muttered  through  his 
closed  teeth. — "The  love  of  parents,  the  regards  of  friends,  the 
attachment  of  inferiors,  the  wealth  of  kindred,  and  the  love  of 
woman.  He  stole  from  me  the  smiles  of  my  father — the  play- 
mate from  my  sj^e ;  the  rude  woodman,  whose  blind  but  faith- 
ful attachment  was  that  of  the  hound,  abandoned  me  to  cling  to 
him  ;  and  now  ! — but  I  am  not  sure  of  this  !  He  is  not  sure  ! 
Flora  Middleton  has  said  nothing  yet.  to  justify  his  presumption, 
and  I  have  sown  some  bitter  seeds  of  doubt  in  her  soul,  which  — 
if  she  be  like  the  rest  of  her  sex,  and  if  that  devil,  or  saint,  that 
serves  him,  do  not  root  up  by  some  miraculous  interposition — 


190  THE   SCOUT. 

will^yet  bring  forth  &far  different  fruit  from  any  which  he  now 
hopes  to  taste.  Let  her  but  be  shy  and  haughty — let  him  but 
show  himself  sensitive  and  indignant — and  all  will  be  done. 
This  meeting  will  prove  nothing ;  and  time  gained  now  is,  to 
me,  everything.  In  another  week,  and  I  ask  no  further  help 
from  fortune.  If  I  win  her  not  by  fair  word,  I  win  her  by  bold 
deeds ;  and  then  I  brush  the  clay  of  the  Congaree  for  ever  from 
my  feet !  The  waves  of  the  sea  shall  separate  me  for  ever  from 
the  doubts  and  the  dangers,  numerous  and  troublesome,  which 
are  increasing  around  me.  This  silly  girl,  too,  whom  no  scorn 
can  drive  from  my  side — I  shall  then,  and  then  only,  be  fairly 
rid  of  her!" 

He  threw  himself  on  the  stone  coping  which  surrounded  the 
vault,  and  surrendered  himself  up  to  the  bitter  meditations  which 
a  reference  to  the  past  life  necessarily  awakens  in  every  guilty 
bosom.  These  we  care  not  to  pursue ;  but,  with  the  reader's 
permission,  will  proceed — without  heeding  those  obstructions 
which  drove  the  chief  of 'the  Black  Riders  to  his  lurking-place 
in  the  vault — to  the  mansion  of  the  lovely  woman  whose  for- 
tunes, though  we  have  not  yet  beheld  her  person,  should  already 
have  awakened  some  interest  in  our  regards. 

The  instinct  of  hate  in  the  bosom  of  Edward  Morton  had  in- 
.  formed  him  rightly.  The  guest  of  Flora  Middleton  was  his 
hated  kinsman.  He  had  reached  the  barony  that  very  evening, 
and  had  met  with  that  reception,  from  the  inmates  of  Brier  Park, 
which  they  were  accustomed  to  show  to  the  gentlemen  of  all 
parties  in  that  time  of  suspicion  and  cautious  policy.  The  grand- 
mother was  kind  and  good-natured  as  ever ;  but  Clarence  saw, 
in  Flora  Middleton,  or  fancied  that  he  saw,  an  air  of  haughty 
indifference,  which  her  eyes  sometimes  exchanged  for  one  of  a 
yet  more  decided  feeling.  Could  it  be  anger  that  flashed  at 
moments  from  beneath  the  long  dark  eyelashes  of  that  high- 
browed  beauty  ?  Was  it  indignation  that  gave  that  curl  to  her 
rich  and  rosy  lips ;  and  made  her  tones,  always  sweet ^as  a  final 
strain  of  music,  now  sharp,  sudden,  and  sometimes  harsh  ? 

The  eyes  of  Clarence  looked  more  than  once  the  inquiry 
which  he  knew  not  how  to  make  in  any  other  way ;  but  only 
once  did  the  dark-blue  orbs  of  Flora  encounter  his  for  a  pro- 


SOME   LOVE   PASSAGES   AT   BRIER   PARK.  191 

longed' moment ,5  and  then  lie  thought  that  their  expression  was 
again  changed  to  one  of  sorrow.  After  that,  she  resolutely 
evaded  his  glance ;  and  the  time,  for  an  hour  after  his  arrival, 
was  passed  by  him  in  a  state  of  doubtful  solicitude ;  and  by 
Flora,  as  he  could  not  help  thinking,  under  a  feeling  of  restraint 
and  excessive  circumspection,  which  was  new  to  both  of  them, 
and  painful  in  the  last  degree  to  him.  All  the  freedoms  of  their 
old  intercourse  had  given  way  to  cold,  stiff  formalities ;  and,  in 
place  of  "Flora"  from  his  lips,  and  "Clarence"  from  hers,  the 
forms  of  address  became  as  rigid  and  ceremonious  between  them 
as  the  most  punctilious  disciplinarian  of  manners,  in  the  most 
tenacious  school  of  the  puritans,  could  insist  upon. 

Flora  Middleton  was  rather  remarkable  than  beautiful.  She 
was  a  noble  specimen  of  the  Anglo-Norman  woman.  Glowing 
with  health,  but  softened  by  grace ;  warmed  by  love,  yet  not 
obtrusive  in  her  earnestness.  Of  a  temper  quick,  energetic,  and 
decisive ;  yet  too  proud  to  deal  in  the  language  of  either  anger 
or  complaint ;  too  delicate  in  her  own  sensibilities  to  outrage,  by 
heedlessness  or  haste,  the  feelings  of  others.  Living  at  a  time, 
and  in  a  region,  where  life  was  full  of  serious  purposes  and  con- 
tinual trials,  she  was  superior  to  those  small  tastes  and  petty 
employments  which  disparage,  too  frequently,  the  understand- 
ings of  her  sex,  and  diminish,  unhappily,  its  acknowledged  im- 
portance to  man  and  to  society.  Her  thoughts  were  neither  too 
nice  for,  nor  superior  to,  the  business  and  the  events  of  the  time. 
She  belonged  to  that  wonderful  race  of  Carolina  women,  above 
all  praise,  who  could  minister,  with  equal  propriety  and  success, 
at  those  altars  for  which  their  fathers,  and  husbands,  and  broth- 
ers fought — who  could  tend  the  wounded,  nurse  the  sick,  cheer 
the  dispirited,  arm  the  warrior  for  the  field — nay,  sometimes  lift 
spear  and  sword  in  sudden  emergency,  and  make  desperate  bat- 
tle, in  compliance  with  the  requisitions  of  the  soul,  nerved  by 
tenderness,  and  love,  and  serious  duty,  to  the  most  masculine 
exertions, — utterly  forgetful  of.  those  ;  effeminacies  of  the  sex, 
which  are  partly  due  to  organization  and  partly  to  the  arbitrary 
and,  too  frequently,  injurious  laws  of  society. 

In  such  circumstances  as  characterized  the  time  of  which  we 
Write,  women  as  well  as  men  became  superior  to  affectations  of 


192  THE  SCOUT. 

every  kind.  The  ordinary  occupations  of  life  were  too  grave  to 
admit  of  them.  The  mind  threw  off  its  petty  humors  with  dis- 
dain, and  where  it  did  not,  the  disdain  of  all  other  minds  was 
sure  to  attend  it.  Flora  never  knew  affectations — she  was  no 
fine  lady — had  no  humors — no  vegetable  life ;  but  went  on 
vigorously  enjoying  time  in  the  only  way,  by  properly  employ- 
ing it.  She  had  her  tastes,  and  might  be  considered  by  some 
persons  as  rather  fastidious  in  them  ;  but  this  fastidioiisness  was 
nothing  more  than  method.  Her  love  of  order  was  one  of  her 
domestic  virtues.  But,  though  singularly  methodical  for  her 
sex,  she  had  no  humdrum  notions ;  and,  in  society,  would  have 
been  the  last  to  be  suspected  of  being  very  regular  in  any  of 
her  habits.  Her  animation  was  remarkable.  Her  playful  hu- 
mor—  which  took  no  exceptions  to  simple  unrestraint — found 
no  fault  with  the  small  follies  of  one's  neighbor ;  yet  never  tres- 
passed beyond  the  legitimate  bounds  of  amusement. 

That  she  showed  none  of  this  animation — this  humor — on 
the  present  occasion,  was  one  of  the  chief  sources  of  Clarence 
Conway's  disquietude.  Restraint  was  so  remarkable  in  the  case 
of  one  whose  frank,  voluntary  spirit  was  always  ready  with  its 
music,  that  he  conjured  up  the  most  contradictory  notions  to 
account  for  it. 

"  Are  you  sick  ?"  he  asked  ;  "  do  you  feel  unwell  ?"  was  one 
of  his  inquiries,  as  his  disquiet  took  a  new  form  of  apprehension. 

"  Sick — no  !  What  makes  you  fancy  such  a  thing,  Colonel 
Conway  ?  Do  I  look  so  ?" 

"No;  but  you  seem  dull — not  in  spirits — something  must 
have  happened — " 

"  Perhaps  something  has  happened,  Cousin  Clarence."  This 
was  the  first  phrase  of  kindness  which  reminded  Clarence  of  old 
times.  He  fancied  she  began  to  soften.  "  Cousin  Clarence" 
was  .one  of  the  familiar  forms  of  address  which  had  been  adopted 
by  the  maiden  some  years  previously,  when,  mere  children,  they 
first  grew  intimate  together. 

"  But  I  am  not  sick,"  she  continued,  "  and  still  less  ought  you 
to  consider  me  dull.  Such  an  opinion,  Clarence,  would  annoy 
many  a  fair  damsel  of  my  acquaintance." 

She  was  evidently  thawing. 


SOME   LOVE   PASSAGES   AT   BRIER   PARK.  193 

"  But  on  that  head,  Flora,  you  are  too  secure  to  suffer  it  to 
annoy  you." 

"  Perhaps  I  am :  but  you  have  certainly  lost  the  knack  of 
saying  fine  things.  The  swamps  have  impaired  your  politeness. 
That  last  phrase  has  not  bettered  your  speech,  since  I  am  at 
liberty  to  take  it  as  either  a  reproach  or  a  compliment." 

Clarence  felt  that  the  game  was  growing  encouraging. 

"  Can  there  be  a  doubt  which  1  As  a  compliment,  surely. 
But  let  me  have  occasion  for  another,  the  meaning  of  which 
shall  be  less  liable  to  misconstruction.  Let  me  lead  you  to  the 
harpsichord." 

"  Excuse  me — not  to-night,  Clarence ;"  and  her  present  reply 
was  made  with  recovered  rigidity  of  manner. 

"  If  not  to-night,  Flora,  I  know  not  when  I  shall  hear  you 
again — perhaps  not  for  months — perhaps,  never!  I  go  to 
Ninety-Six  to-morrow." 

Her  manner  softened  as  she  replied  :  — 

"Ah!  do  you,  Clarence? — and  there,  at  present,  lies  the 
whole  brunt  of  the  war.  I  should  like  to  play  for  you,  Clar- 
ence, but  I  can  not.  You  must  be  content  with  music  of  drum 
and  trumpet  for  a  while." 

"  Why,  Flora — you  never  refused  me  before  ?" 

"True — but " 

"  But  what !  —  only  one  piece,  Flora." 

"Do  not  ask  me  again.  I  can  not — I  will  not  play  for  you 
to-night ;  nay,  do  not  interrupt  me,  Clarence :  my  harpsichord 
is  in  tune,  and  I  am  not  seeking  for  apologies.  I  tell  you  I  will 
not  play  for  you  to-night,  and  perhaps  I  will  never  play  for  you 
again." 

The  young  colonel  of  cavalry  was  astounded. 

"Flora — Flora  Middleton!"  was  his  involuntary  exclama- 
tion. The  venerable  grandmother  echoed  it,  though  her  tones 
were  those  of  exhortation,  not  of  surprise. 

"Flora — Flora,  my  child — what  would  you  do?"  she  con- 
tinued with  rebuking  voice  and  warning  finger. 

"Nay,  mother,"  said  the  maiden  assuringly  —  "let  me  have 
my  own  way  in  this.  I  like  frankness,  and  if  Clarence  be  what 
he  has  always  seemed — and  we  always  believed  him — he  will 

9 


194  THE   SCOUT. 

like  it  too.  I  am  a  country-girl,  and  may  be  permitted  a  little 
of  the  simplicity — you  call  it  bluntness,  perhaps — which  is 
natural  to  one." 

"  Flora,  what  can  be  the  meaning  of  this  ?"  demanded  the 
lover  with  unaffected  earnestness  and  astonishment.  "  In  what 
have  I  offended  you  ?  For  there  is  some  such  meaning  in  your 
words." 

The  maiden  looked  to  her  grandmother,  but  did  not  answer  ; 
and  Conway,  though  now  greatly  excited,  could  readily  perceive 
that  she  labored  under  feelings  which  evidently  tried  her  con- 
fidence in  herself,  and  tested  all  her  strength.  A  deep  suffusion 
overspread  her  cheek,  the  meaning  of  which,  under  other  cir- 
cumstances, he  might  have  construed  favorably  to  his  suit. 
Meanwhile,  the  old  lady  nodded  her  head  with  a  look  of  mixed 
meaning,  which  one,  better  read  in  the  movements  of  hen  mind, 
might  have  found  to  signify-,  "  Go  through  with  what  you  have 
begun,  since  you  have  already  gone  so  far.  You  can  not  halt 
now." 

So,  indeed,  did  it  seem  to  be  understood  by  the  maiden ;  for 
she  instantly  recovered  herself  and  continued  :  — 

"  Give  me  your  arm,  Clarence,  and  I  will  explain  all.  I 
am  afraid  I  have  overtasked  myself;  but  the  orphan,  Clarence 
Conway,  must  assert  her  own  rights  and  character,  though  it 
may  somewhat  impair,  in  the  estimation  of  the  stronger  sex,  her 
pretensions  to  feminine  delicacy." 

"You  speak  in  mysteries,  Flora,"  was  the  answer  of  the 
lover :  "  surely  the  orphan  has  no  wrong  to  fear  at  my  hands ; 
and  what  rights  of  Flora  Middleton  are  there,  disputed  or  de- 
nied by  me,  which  it  becomes  'her  to  assert  with  so  much 
solemnity,  and  at  such  a  fearful  risk  ?" 

"  Come  with  me,  and  you  shall  know  all." 

She  took  his  arm.  and,  motioning  her  head  expressively  to 
her  grandmother,  led  the  way  to  the  spacious  portico,  half- 
embowered  by  gadding  vines — already  wanton  with  a  thousand 
flowers  of  the  budding  season — which  formed  the  high  and 
imposing  entrance  to  the  ancient  dwelling.  The  spot  was  one 
well  chosen  fcfr  the  secrets  of  young  lovers — a  home  of  buds, 
and  blossoms,  and  the  hallowing  moonlight — quiet  above  in  the 


SOME  LOVE  PASSAGES  AT  BRIER  PARK.       195 

t 

sky,  quiet  on  the  earth ;  a  scene  such  as  prompts  the  mind  to 
dream  that  there  may  be  griefs  and  strifes  at  a  distance— 
rumors  of  war  and  bloodshed  in  barbarian  lands,  and  of  tempests 
that  will  never  trouble  ours.  Clarence  paused  as  they  emerged 
into  the  sweet  natural  shadows  of  the  spot. 

"  How  have  I  dreamed  of  these  scenes,  Flora — this  spot — 
these  flowers,  and  these  only  !  My  heart  has  scarcely  forgotten 
the  situation  of  a  single  bud  or  leaf.  All  appears  now  as  I  fancy 
it  nightly  in  our  long  rides  and  longer  watches  in  the  swamp." 

She  answered  with  a  sigh  :  — 

"  Can  war  permit  of  this  romance,  Clarence  ?  Can  it  be  pos- 
sible that  he  who  thinks  of  blood,  and  battle,  and  the  near 
neighborhood  of  the  foe,  has  yet  a  thought  to  spare  to  ladies' 
bowers,  vines,  blossoms,  and  such  woman-fancies  as  make  up 
the  pleasures  of  her  listless  moods,  and  furnish,  in  these  times, 
her  only,  and  perhaps  her  best  society." 

"  I  think  of  them  as  tributary  to  her  only,  Flora.  Perhaps  I 
should  not  have  thought  of  these,  but  that  you  were  also  in  my 
thoughts." 

"  No  more,  Clarence ;  and  you  remind  me  of  the  explanation 
which  I  have  to  make,  and  to  demand.  Bear  with  me  for  a 
moment ;  it  calls  for  all  my  resolution." 

She  seated  herself  upon  a  bench  beneath  the  vines,  and  mo- 
tioned him  to  a  place  beside  her.  After  a  brief  delay — a 
tribute  to  the  weaknese  of  her  sex — she  began  as  follows :  — 

"  Clarence  Conway,  before  I  saw  you  to-night,  I  had  resolved 
henceforward  to  regard  and  treat  you  as  the  most  indifferent 
stranger  that  ever  challenged  the  hospitality  of  my  father's 
dwelling.  But  I  have  not  been  able  to  keep  my  resolution. 
Your  coming  to-night  reminds  me  so  much  of  old  times,  when  I 
had  every  reason  to  respect — why  should  I  not  say  it  ? — to  like 
you,  Clarence,. that  I  feel  unwilling  to  put  you  off  as  a  stranger, 
without  making  such  explanations  as  will  justify  me  in  this 
course.  Briefly,  then,  Clarence  Conway,  some  things  have 
reached  my  ears,  as  if  spoken  by  you,  and  of  me — such  things 
as  a  vain  young  man  might  be  supposed  likely  to  say  of  any 
young  woman  who  has  suffered  him  to  think  that  she  had 
thoughts  for  nothing  beside  himself  I  will  not  tell  you,  Clar- 


196  THE  SCOUT. 

ence,  that  I  believed  all  this.  I  could  not  dare — I  did  not  wish 
to  believe  it ;  but,  I  thought  it  not  impossible  that  you  had 
spoken  of  me,  perhaps  too  familiarly,  without  contemplating  the 
injury  you  might  do  me  and — do  yourself.  Now,  if  you  knew 
anything  of  a  maiden's  heart,  Clarence  Conway — nay,  if  you 
knew  anything  of  mine — you  would  readily  imagine  what  I 
must  have  felt  on  hearing  these  things.  The  burning  blushes 
on  my  cheeks  now,  painfully  as  I  feel  them,  were  as  nothing  to 
the  galling  sting  of  the  moment  when  I  heard  this  story." 

"  But  you  did  not  believe  it,  Flora !" 

"  Believe  it  ?  no  !  not  all — at  least — " 

"None!  none!"  repeated  the  youth,  with  stern  emphasis,  as 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  and  looked  her  in  the  face  with 
such  an  expression  as  falsehood  never  yet  could  assume. 

"  That  I  should  speak  this  of  you,  and  that  you  should  believe 
it,  Flora  Middleton,  are  things  which  I  should  have  fancied 
equally  impossible.  Need  I  say  that  it  is  all  false — thoroughly 
false ;  that  your  name  has  never  passed  my  lips  but  with  feel- 
ings of  the  profoundest  reverence ;  that — but  I  blush  too,  at 
the  seeming  necessity  of  saying  all  this,  and  saying  it  to  you : 
I  thought — I  could  have  hoped,  Flora  Middleton,  that  you,  at 
least,  knew  me  better  than  to  doubt  me  for  a  moment,  or  to 
listen  with  credulous  ear  to  such  a  miserable  slander.  The  neces- 
sity of  this  explanation,  next  to  the  sorrow  of  having  given  pain 
to  you,  is  the  keenest  pang  which  you  could  make  me  suffer." 

"Be  not  angry,  Clarence,"  she  said  gently — "remember 
what  society  exacts  of  my  sex — remember  how  much  of  our 
position  depends  upon  the  breath  of  man  ; — our  tyrant  too  often 
— always  our  sole  judge  while  we  dwell  upon  the  earth.  His 
whisper  of  power  over  us,  is  our  death  ; — the  death  of  our  pride 
— of  that  exclusiveness  of  which  he,  himself,  is  perhaps,  the 
most  jealous  being ;  and  whether  the  tale  of  his  abuse  of  this 
power,  be  true  or  not — think  how  it  must  wound  and  humble — 
how  it  must  disturb  the  faith,  with  the  judgment,  of  the  poor 
woman,  who  feels  that  she  is  always,  to  some  degree,  at  the 
mercy  of  the  irresponsible  despot  whom  she  must  fear,  even 
when  she  can  not  honor.  I  mention  this  to  excuse  the  prompt- 
ness of  my  resentment.  I  tell  you,  Clarence  Conway,  that  a 


SOME  LOVE   PASSAGES   AT   BRIER  PARK.  197 

woman  of  my  frank  nature,  is  compelled  to  be  resentful,  if  she 
would  subdue  the  slanderer  to  silence.  Slander  is  0f  such  mush- 
room growth,  yet  spreads  over  so  large  a  surface,  that  it  is  need- 
ful at  once  to  check  the  first  surmises,  and  doubts,  and  insinua- 
tions with  which  it  begins  its  fungous,  but  poisonous  existence. 
My  feeling  on  this  subject — my  keen  jealousy  of  my  own  posi- 
tion— a  jealousy  the  more  natural,  as,  from  the  frankness  of  rny 
disposition,  I  am  frequently  liable  to  be  misunderstood,  has  pos- 
sibly led  me  to  do  you  injustice.  Even  when  this  reached  my 
ears,  I  did  not  believe  it  altogether.  I  thought  it  not  improbable, 
however,  that  you  had  spoken  of  me  among  your  friends, 
and " 

"  Forgive  me  that  I  interrupt  you,  Flora.  I  feel  too  much 
pain  at  what  you  say — too  much  annoyance — to  suffer  you  to 
go  on.  Let  me  finish  my  assurances.  I  shall  employ  but  few 
words,  and  they  shall  be  final,  or — nothing  !  I  have  no  friends 
to  whom  I  should  ever  speak  a  falsehood  of  any  kind — none  to 
whom  I  would  ever  utter,  with  unbecoming  familiarity,  the  name 
of  Flora  Middleton.  If  I  have  spoken  of  you  in  the  hearing 
of  others,  it  has  been  very  seldom;  only,  perhaps,  when  it 
seemed  needful  for  me  to  do  so — perhaps  never  more  than 
once ;  and  then  never  in  disparagement  of  that  modesty  which 
is  the  noblest  characteristic  of  your  sex.  But ! " 

He  paused !  He  was  reminded  at  this  moment  of  the  late 
conference  which  he  had  with  Edward  Conway.  In  that  con- 
ference he  had  certainly  asserted  a  superior  right,  over  his  kins- 
man, to  approach  Flora  Middleton  with  love.  This  assertion, 
however,  only  contemplated  the  relative  position  of  the  brothers, 
one  to  the  other ;  and  was  accompanied  by  an  express  disclaimer, 
on  the  part  of  Clarence,  of  any  influence  over  the  maiden  her- 
self;  but  the  recollection  of  this  circumstance  increased  the  dif- 
ficulties in  the  way  of  an  explantation,  unless  by  the  adoption 
of  a  single  and  very  simple — but  a  very  direct  course — which 
is  always  apt  to  be  regarded  as  one  of  great  peril  by  all  youth- 
ful lovers.  Clarence  Conway  was  one  of  those  men  who  know 
only  the  Alexandrine  method  of  getting  through  the  knots  of 
the  moral  Gordius. 

"  I  have  spoken  of  you,  Flora — nay,  I  have  spoken  of  you, 


198  THE  SCOUT. 

and  in  reference  to  the  most  delicate  subject  in  the  history  of  a 
woman's  heart.  Thus  far  I  make  my  confession,  and  will  for- 
bear with  your  permission  saying  more — saying  what  I  mean 
to  say — until  I  have  craved  of  you  the  name  of  him' who  has 
thus  ventured  to  defame  me." 

"  I  can  not  tell  you,  Clarence." 

"  Can  not,  Flora?  — Can  not !— " 

"  Will  not,  is  what  I  should  say,  perhaps ;  but  I  have  used 
those  words  once  already,  to-night,  when  I  felt  that  they  must 
give  you  pain ;  and  I  would  have  forborne  their  use  a  second 
time.  I  can,  certainly,  tell  you  from  whom  I  heard  these  things, 
but  I  will  not." 

"  And  why  not,  Flora  1     Would  you  screen  the  slanderer  ?" 

"Yes! — For  a  very  simple  reason; — I  would  not  have  you 
fight  him,  Clarence. " 

"  Enough,  Flora,  that  I  know  the  man.  None  could  be  so 
base  but  the  person  whom  you  know  as  Edward  Conway,  but 
whom  I  know " 

He  paused — he  could  not  make  the  revelation. 

"  Ha !  Tell  me,  Clarence — what  know  you  of  Edward  Con- 
way,  except  that  he  is  your  near  kinsman  ?" 

"  That  which  makes  me  blush  to  believe  that  he  is  my  father's 
son.  But  my  knowledge  is  such,  Flora,  that  I  will  not  tell  it 
you.  It  differs  from  yours  in  this  respect,  that,  unhappily,  it  is 
true  —  all  true — terribly  true!  Know,  then,  that,  to  him — to 
Edward  Conway — long  ago,  did  I  declare,  what  I  once  already 
presumed  to  declare  to  you — that  I  loved  you — " 

"  Let  me  not  hear  you,  Clarence,"  said  the  maiden  timidly, 
rising  as  she  spoke.  But,  he  took  her  hand,  and  with  a  gentle 
pressure  restored  her  to  her  seat  beside  him. 

"  I  must.  It  is  now  necessary  for  my  exculpation.  Before 
he  saw  you,  he  knew  that  I  loved  you,  and  was  the  faithless 
confidante  of  my  unsuspecting  affections.  He  betrayed  them. 
He  sought  you  thenceforward  with  love  himself.  Words  of 
anger — blows,  almost — followed  between  us;  and  though  we 
did  not  actually  reach  that  issue,  yet  suspicion,  and  jealousy, 
and  hate,  are  now  the  terms  on  which  we  stand  to  each  other. 
He  poured  this  cursed  falsehood  into  your  ears,  I  have  reason 


SOME  LOVE  PASSAGES   AT   BRIBE  PARK  199 

to  think,  but  ten  days  ago.  Within  the  same  space  of  time  I 
have  saved  his  life.  To  him,  only,  have  I  spoken  of  you  in 
terms  liahle  to  misrepresentation.  I  did  not  speak  of  having 
claims  \ipon  you,  Flora,  but  upon  him;  —  I  charged  him  with 
treachery  to  my  trust,  though  I  did  not  then  dream  that  he  had 
been  the  doubly-dyed  traitor  that  I  have  since  found  him." 

"  Let  us  return  to  the  parlor,  Clarence." 

"  No,  Flora,"  said  the  youth,  with  mild  and  mournful  accents. 
"No,  Flora  Middleton,  let  our  understanding  be  final.  To- 
morrow I  go  to  Ninety-Six,  and  God  knows  what  fate  awaits 
me  there.  You,  perhaps,  can  assist  in  determining  it,  by  the 
response  which  you  make  to-night.  I  wrote  you  by  John  Ban- 
nister, Flora — I  know  that  you  received  that  letter — yet  you 
sent  me  no  answer." 

"Let  me  confess,  also,  Clarence: — But  three  days  before  I 
received  your  letter,  I  was  told  of  this." 

"  Ha !  Has  the  reptile  been  so  long  at  his  web  ?"  exclaimed 
the  youth  — "  But  I  will  crush  him  in  it  yet." 

"  Beware  !  Oh !  Clarence  Conway,  beware  of  what  you 
say.  Beware  rash  vows  and  rash  performances.  Do  you  forget 
that  the  man  of  whom  you  speak  is  your  brother — the  son  of 
your  father  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  remember  that  which  he  has  himself  forgot- 
ten ;—  nay,  which  he  repudiates  with  bitterest  curses,  and  which 
the  black  deeds  of  his  wretched  life — of  which,  as  yet,  you 
know  nothing — have  repudiated  more  effectually  than  all.  But 
I  would  not  speak  of  him  now,  Flora.  I  would,  if  possible, 
exclude  all  bitterness  from  my  thought — as  in  speaking  to  you, 
I  would  .exclude  it  from  my  lips.  Hear  me,  Flora.  You  know 
the  service  I  am  sent  upon.  You  can  imagine  some  of  its  dan- 
gers. The  employment  now  before  me  is  particularly  so.  The 
strife  along  the  Saluda  is  one  of  no  ordinary  character.  It  is  a 
•strife  between  brothers,  all  of  whom  have  learned  to  hate  as  I 
do,  and  to  seek  to  destroy  with  an  appetite  of  far  greater  anx- 
iety. The  terms  between  whig  and  tory,  now,  are  death  only. 
No  quarter  is  demanded;: — none  is  given." 

"  I  know  !  I  know  !  Say  no  more  of  this  horrible  condition 
of  things.  I  know  it  all." 


200  THE   SCOUT. 

"  The  final  issue  is  at  hand,  and  victory  is  almost  in  our 
grasp.  The  fury  of  the  tones  increases  with  their  despair. 
They  feel  that  they  must  fly  the  country,  and  they  are  accord- 
ingly drenching  it  with  blood.  I  speak  to  you,  therefore,  with 
the  solemnity  of  one  who  may  never  see  you  more.  But  if  we 
do  meet  again,  Flora,  dear  Flora — if  I  survive  this  bloody  cam- 
paign— may  I  hope  that  then — these  doubts  all  dispersed, 
these  slanders  disproven — you  will  look  on  me  with  favor  ;  you 
will  smile — you  will  be  mine ;  mine  only — all  mine !" 

The  tremors  of  the  soft  white  hand  which  he  grasped  within 
his  own  assured  the  lover  of  the  emotion  in  her  breast.  Her 
bosom  heaved  for  an  instant,  but  she  was  spared  the  necessity 
of  making  that  answer,  which,  whether  it  be  "  no"  or  "  yes,"  is 
equally  difficult  for  any  young  damsel's  utterance.  A  sharp, 
sudden  signal  whistle  was  sounded  from  without  at  this  moment ; 
— once — twice — thrice  ; — a  bustle  was  heard  among  the  few 
dragoons  who  had  been  stationed  by  the  prudent  commander 
about  the  premises ;  and,  a  moment  after,  the  subdued  tones  of 
the  faithful  Supple  Jack  apprized  his  captain  that  danger  was 
at  hand. 

"  Speak ! — speak  to  me,  Flora,  ere  I  leave  you — ere  I  leave 
you,  perhaps,  for  ever!  Speak  to  me! — tell  me  that  I  have 
not  prayed  for  your  love  and  devoted  myself  in  vain.  Send  me 
not  forth,  doubtful  or  hopeless.  If  it  be " 

Sweet,  indeed,  to  his  heart,  were  the  tremulous  beatings 
which  he  distinctly  heard  of  hers.  They  said  all  that  her  lips 
refused  to  say.  Yet  never  was  heart  more  ready  to  respond  in 
the  affirmative — never  were  lips  more  willing  to  declare  them- 
selves. One  reflection  alone  determined  her  not  to  do  so.  It 
was  a  feeling  of  feminine  delicacy  that  prompted  her,  for  the 
time,  to  withhold  the  confession  of  feminine  weakness. 

"What!" — such  was  the  reflection  as  it  passed  through  her 
mind — "bring  him  to  these  shades  to  hear  such  a  confession! 
Impossible  !  What  will  he  think  of  me  1  No  !  no  !  — not  to- 
night. Not  here,  at  least !" 

She  was  still  silent,  but  her  agitation  evidently  increased; 
yet  not  more  than  that  of  her  lover.  The  summons  of  the  faith- 


SOME   LOVE   PASSAGES   AT   BRIER   PARK.  201 

fill  scout  was  again  repeated.     The  circumstances  admitted  of 
no  delay. 

"  Oh,  speak  to  me,  dearest  Flora.  Surely  you  can  not  need 
any  new  knowledge  of  what  I  am,  or  of  the  love  that  I  bear 
you.  Surely,  you  can  not  still  give  faith  to  these  wretched 
slanders  of  my  wretched  brother  !" 

"  No !  no !"  she  eagerly  answered.  "  I  believe  you  to  be 
time,  Clarence,  and  as  honorable  as  you  are  faithful.  But  in  re- 
spect to  what  you  plead,  Clarence,  I  can  not  answer  now — not 
here,  at  least.  Let  me  leave  you  now !" 

"  Not  yet,  Flora !     But  one  word." 

"  Not  here,  Clarence — not  here  !"  with  energy. 

"  Tell  me  that  I  may  hope  !" 
' I  can  tell  you  nothing  now,  Clarence — not  a  word  here" 

Her  lips  were  inflexible;  but  if  ever  hand  yet  spoke  the 
meaning  of  its  kindred  heart,  then  did  the  soft,  shrinking  hand 
which  he  grasped  nervously  in  his  own,  declare  the  meaning  of 
hers.  It  said  "  hope  on — love  on  !"  as  plainly  as  maiden  finger 
ever  said  it  yet ;  and  this  was  all — and,  perhaps,  enough, 
as  a  first  answer  to  a  young  beginner — which  she  then  vouch- 
safed him,  as  she  glided  into  the  apartment.  In  the  next 
moment  the  faithful  Supple  Jack,  clearing,  at  a  single  bound, 
the  height  from  the  terrace  to  the  upper  balcony,  in  which  the 
interview  had  taken  place,  breathed  into  the  half  oblivious  senses 
of  his  commander  the  hurried  words — 

"  The  British  and  tories  are  upon  us,  Clarence !  We  have 
not  a  moment  to  lose  !" 

9* 


202  THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTE&  XVIII. 

A   CONFERENCE   IN    THE    TOMB. 

THESE  words  at  once  awoke  the  young  soldier  to  activity. 
Clarence  Conway  was  not  the  man  to  become  subdued  by 
"Amaryllis  in  the  shade,"  nor  meshed,  fly-like,  in  the  "tangles 
of  any  Nseera's  hair."  A  new  mood  possessed  him  with  the 
communication  of  his  faithful  scout,  who,  by  the  way,  also  per- 
formed the  duties  of  his  lieutenant. 

"  Get  your  men  instantly  to  horse,  Jack  Bannister,  and  send 
them  forward  on  the  back  track  to  the  river,"  was  the  prompt 
command  of  the  superior. 

"  Done  a'ready,  colonel,"  was  the  respectful  answer. 

"  Good ; — and,  now,  for  your  report." 

The  examination  which  followed  was  brief,  rapid,  and  com- 
prehensive. Though  fond  of  long  speeches  usually,  Jack  Ban- 
nister was  yet  the  model  of  a  man  of  business.  He  could  con- 
fine himself,  when  needful,  to  the  very  letter. 

"  From  whence  came  the  enemy  1 — above  or  below  ?" 

"  Below,  sir." 

•'*  What  force  do  your  scouts  report  to  you  ?" 

"Large! — I  reckon  it's  Rawdon's  whole  strength;  but  the 
advance  only  is  at  hand." 

"  Rawdon,  ha  !  He  goes  then  to  the  relief  of  '  Ninety  Six/ 
I  trust  he  goes  too  late.  But  our  business  is  scarce  with  him. 
What  cavalry  has  he  1  Did  you  learn  that  ?" 

"  It's  mighty  small,  I'm  thinking ;  but  we  can't  hear  for  sar- 
tin.  It's  had  a  monstrous  bad  cutting  up,  you  know,  at  Orange- 
burg,  and  don't  count  more,  I  reckon,  than  sixty  men,  all  told. 
That's  the  whole  force  of  Coffin,  I  know." 

"  We  must  manage  that,  then  !  It's  the  only  mode  in  which 
we  can  annoy  Hawdon  and  baffle  his  objects.  Between  '  Brier 


A   CONFERENCE  IN  THE  TOMB.  203 

Park'  and  '  Ninety-Six'  we  should  surely  pick  up  all  of  his  flock 
—  and  must  ?  Are  the  scouts  in  ?  All  1" 

"All  but  Finley — I'm  jub'ous  he's  cut  off  below.  They've 
caught  him  napping,  I  reckon." 

"If  so,  he  has  paid  before  this,  the  penalty  of  his  nap.  We 
must  be  careful  not  to  incur  like  penalties.  We  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  draw  off  quietly  from  Brier  Park,  taking  the  back 
track  by  the  river,  and  plant  ourselves  in  waiting  a  few  miles 
above.  There  are  a  dozen  places  along  the  road  where  we  can 
bring  them  into  a  neat  ambush,  which  will  enable  us  to  empty 
their  saddles.  What  do  the  lower  scouts  say  of  their  order  of 
march  ?" 

"Precious  little!  They  had  to  run  for  it — Coffin's  cavalry 
scouring  pretty  considerably  ahead.  But  they  keep  up  a  mighty 
quick  step.  It's  a  forced  march,  and  his  cavalry  is  a  mile  or 
more  in  advance." 

"  They  march  without  beat  of  drum  ?" 

"  Or  blast  of  bugle ; — so  quiet  you  can  hardly  hear  the  clat- 
ter of  a  sabre.  Nothing  but  the  heavy  tread  of  their  feet." 

"Enough.  As  you  have  sent  the  troop  forward,  let  your 
scouts  file  off  quietly  after  them.  Keep  close  along  the  river, 
and  let  them  all  be  in  saddle  when  I  reach  them  at  the  end  of 
the  causey.  Rawdon  will  probably  make  the  '  Barony'  his  place 
of  rest  to-night.  He  must  have  marched  forty  miles  since  last 
midnight.  Pity  we  had  not  known  of  this  !  That  fellow,  Fin- 
ley — he  was  a  sharp  fellow,  too — but  no  matter !  Go  you  now, 
Bannister.  Have  my  horse  in  readiness  by  the  old  vault ;  and 
let  your  scouts,  in  filing  off,  dismount  and  lead  their  horses,  that 
there  may  be  no  unnecessary  clatter  of  hoofs.  Away,  now — I 
will  but  say  farewell  to  Mrs.  Middleton  and  Flora." 

"  Tell  'em  good- by  for  me,  too,  colonel,  if  you  please ;  for 
they've  always  been  mighty  genteel  in  the  way  they've  behaved 
to  me,  and  I  like  to  be  civil." 

Clarence  promised  him,  and  the  excellent  fellow  disappeared, 
glad  to  serve  the  person  whom  he  most  affectionately  loved. 
Clarence  then  proceeded  to  the  apartment  in  which  the  ladies 
were  sitting,  and  suffering  under  the  natural  excitement  pro- 
duced by  the  intelligence,  always  so  startling  in  those  days,  of 


204  THE  SCOUT. 

the  approach  of  a  British  army.  Brief  words  at  parting  were 
allowed  to  the  lovers ;  and  whether  Mrs.  Middletoii  conjectured, 
or  had  been  told  by  Flora,  of  what  had  taken  place  between 
them,  the  pld  lady  was  civil  enough  to  leave  the  couple  together 
without  the  restraint  of  her  maternal  presence.  Preliminaries, 
at  such  moments,  among  sensible  people,  are  usually  dispensed 
with. 

"  You  will  not  answer  me,  Flora1?" 

'*  Spare  me  Clarence — not  now." 

"  Not  now  !  Think,  dearest  Flora,  of  the  circumstances  under 
which  I  leave  you :  the  force  that  drives  me  from  your  presence ! 
Remember  the  danger  that  follows  my  footsteps,  and'  the  dan- 
gers which  I  am  bound  to  seek.  I  may  never  again  behold 
you — may  lose,  in  the  skirmish  of  the  dawn,  the  hope,  the  fear, 
the  thousand  dreams  and  anxieties  which  now  possess  and  alter- 
nately afflict  and  delight  my  heart.  Let  me  not  go  forth  trem- 
bling with  this  doubt.  But  one  word — one  only — which  shall 
fill  my  bosom  with  new  sm'rit,.  strength  and  courage.  Speak, 
dearest  Flora — but  a  single  word  !" 

"  Ah,  Clarence,  urge  me  not !  What  I  should  say  might  have 
a  very  different  effect  upon  you ;  might  subdue  your  spirit,  dis- 
arm your  strength ;  make  your  heart  to  waver  in  its  courage ; 
might " 

"Enough!  enough!  I  ask  for  no  other  answer!"  he  ex- 
claimed, with  bright  eyes  and  a  bounding  spirit.  "Nothing 
could  do  that  but  the  fear  of  losing  a  treasure  suddenly  won,  and 
so  precious,  over  all  things,  in  my  sight.  But  I  trust  that  this 
sweet  conviction,  dear  Flora,  will  have  no  such  effect  upon  my 
spirit.  If,  before,  I  fought  only  for  my  country,  I  now  fight  for 
love  and  country ;  and  the  double  cause  should  occasion  double 
courage !  Farewell — farewell !  God  be  with  you,  and  his 
angels  watch  over  you,  as  fondly,  as  faithfully,  and  writh  more 
ability  to  serve  you,  than  your  own  Clarence.  Farewell,  fare- 
well!" 

Hastily  seizing  her  hand,  he  carried  it  to  his  lips  with  a  fer- 
vent pressure ;  then,  elastic  with  new  emotions  of  delight,  that 
made  him  heedless  and  thoughtless  of  the  danger,  he  hurried 
downward  into  the  court-yard  below.  ~The  area  lay  in  utter 


A   CONFEEENCE  IN  THE  TOMB.  205 

silence.  The  scouts  had  gone,  the  sentinels  withdrawn ;  and, 
with  a  single  glance  up  to  the  apartment  where  he  had  left  the 
lady  of  his  love,  the  youthful  partisan  took  his  way  after  his 
lieutenant.  Let  us  only  follow  him  so  far  as  to  look  after  other 
agents  in  our  narrative,  who  lie  upon  his  route,  and  whom  we 
may  no  longer  leave  unnoticed. 

Long  and  wearisome,  indeed,  had  been  the  hour  of  anxious 
watch  which  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders  had  maintained  over 
the  barony,  in  his  gloomy  hiding-place.  Twenty  times,  in  that 
period,  had  he  emerged  from  the  tomb,  and  advanced  toward 
the  dwelling  of  the  living.  But  his  course  was  bounded  by  the 
military  restraints  which  the  timely  prudence  of  Conway,  and 
the  watchfulness  of  Bannister,  had  set  around  the  mansion. 
Vainly,  from  the  cover  of  this  or  that  friendly  tree,  did  his  eyes 
strain  to  pierce  the  misty  intervals,  and  penetrate  the  apartment 
whose  gay  lights  and  occasional  shadows  were  all  that  were  dis- 
tinguishable. Disappointed  each  time,  he  returned  to  his  place 
of  concealment,  with  increasing  chagrin;  plunging,  in  sheer 
desperation,  down  into  its  awful  and  dark  recesses,  which  to  him 
presented  no  aspects  of  either  awe  or  darkness. 

At  length,  however,  the  sound  of  a  movement  near  the  man- 
sion awakened  in  him  a  hope  that  his  tedious  watch  would 
shortly  end.  Slight  though  the  noises  were,  under  the  cautious 
management  of  Bannister,  the  calling  in  of  the  sentries,  and 
their  withdrawal,  necessarily  reached  his  ears,  and  prepared  him 
for  the  movement  of  the  troop  which  followed.  Each  trooper 
leading  his  steed  with  shortened  rein,  they  deployed  slowly 
beside  the  tomb,  little  dreaming  whom  it  harbored  j  and  the  out- 
law was  compelled,  during  their  progress,  to  observe  the  most 
singular  quiet. 

The  vaulted  habitations  of  the  dead  were  no  unfrequent 
hiding-places  in  those  days  for  the  living,  and,  to  a  trooper, 
trained  in  the  swamp  warfare,  to  convert  every  situation  of 
obscurity  and  darkness  into  a  place  of  retreat  or  ambush,  the 
slightest  circumstance  or  movement  on  his  part,  he  well  knew, 
would  result  in  their  sudden  search  of  his  gloomy  house  of 
refuge.  Through  a  chink  in  the  decaying  floor  of  the  vault,  he 
watched  their  progress ;  and  when  they  had  gone  from  sight, 


206  THE  SCOUT. 

swallowed  up  in  the  deep  blank  of  the  forest  along  the  margin 
of  the  river,  he  once  more  ascended  to  the  light. 

His  path  now  promised  to  be  free.  He  knew  the  troop  to  be 
one  of  his  brother's  regiment  —  a  small  though  famous  squadron 
— "The  Congaree  Blues" — proverbial  for  bold  riding,  happy 
horsemanship,  an  (Tall  of  that  characteristic  daring  which  every- 
where marked  the  southern  cavalry  throughout  the  war.  The 
uniform  he  readily  distinguished,  though  not  the  persons.  He 
fancied  that  his  brother  was  among  them ;  and,  hearing  no 
further  sound,  with  that  impatience  which  was  natural  to  his 
desires,  and  which  was  necessarily  increased  by  the  restraints  to 
which  they  had  been  subjected,  he  prepared  to  go  boldly  for- 
ward to  the  mansion. 

But  the  coast  was  not  yet  clear.  He  had  advanced  a  few 
paces  only,  when  he  heard  the  faint,  but  mellow  tones  of  a  dis- 
tant bugle,  rising  and  falling  in  sweet  harmony  with  the  light 
zephyrs  which  bore  them  to  his  ears.  These  sounds  now  fur- 
nished him  with  the  true  reason  for  his  brother's  flight,  and  this 
was  of  a  sort  which  should  not  have  troubled  him.  The  ene- 
mies of  his  kinsman,  according  to  his  profession,  were  not  un- 
likely to  be  his  friends ;  yet  the  business  upon  which  the  heart 
of  Edward  Morton  was  set,  and  the  position  in  which  he  then 
stood,  were  such  as  to  make  the  presence  of  a  British  force 
almost  as  little  desirable  to  him  as  had  been  that  of  his  brother. 
His  present  objects  admitted  of  no  friendships.  Thoroughly 
selfish,  they  could  only  be  prosecuted  at  the  expense  of  the 
cause  in  which  he  was  engaged,  and  at  the  sacrifice  of  that  band 
with  which,  for  life  and  death,  his  own  life — if  his  oath  to  them 
were  of  any  value — was  solemnly  and  indissolubly  connected. 

Bitterly,  therefore,  and  with  renewed  vexation,  did  he  listen 
to  the  sweet  but  startling  tones  of  that  sudden  trumpet.  Curs- 
ing the  course  of  events  which,  so  far,  that  night,  seemed  destined 
to  baffle  his  purposes,  he  stood  for  a  few  moments,  in  doubt, 
upon  the  spot  where  the  sounds  first  struck  his  ears ;  hesitating 
whether  to  go  forward  boldly,  or  at  once  return  to  his  place  of 
safety. 

To  adopt  the  former  course,  was,  in  His  present  undisguised 
condition,  to  declare  to  Flora  Middleton  the  fact,  which  he  had 


A   CONFERENCE   IN   THE   TOMB.  207 

hitherto  studiously  concealed  from  her  knowledge,  of  his  connec- 
tion with  the  British  cause.  Such  a  revelation,  he  well  knew, 
would,  in  the  mind  of  one  so  religiously  devoted  to  the  whig 
party  as  was  that  maiden,  operate  most  unfavorably  against  his 
personal  pretensions,  on  the  success  of  which,  he  still  flattered 
himself,  he  might,  in  some  degree,  rely. 

While  he  doubted  and  deliberated  on  his  course,  he  was  star- 
tled by  other  sounds,  which  warned  him  of  the  necessity  of  a 
prompt  determination.  The  heavy  footsteps  of  a  man,  whose 
tread  was  measured  like  that  of  a  soldier,  were  heard  approach- 
ing through  the  grove  that  extended  from  the  dwelling  in  the 
direction  of  the  tomb ;  and  the  outlaw  moved  hurriedly  back  to 
the  shelter  he  had  left. 

He  was  scarcely  rapid  enough  in  his  movements.  The  per- 
son approaching  was  no  other  than  Clarence  Conway.  He  had 
just  parted,  as  we  have  seen,  with  Flora  Middleton.  Her  last 
words  were  still  sounding  in  his  ears  like  some  sweet,  melan- 
choly music,  which  the  language  of  one  heart  delivers,  in  love, 
for  the  Consolation  of  another.  The  last  pressure  of  her  hand 
seemed  still  to  make  itself  felt  from  his  own,  upward,  to  his 
heart,  with  a  sensation  which  carried  a  thrill  of  joy  to  its  deep- 
est recesses.  With  the  bugle  of  the  enemy  sounding  on  the 
track  behind  him,  he  had  then  no  thought,  no  feeling  for  the 
enemy  —  and,  certainly,  no  fear.  Foes,  at  that  moment,  if  not 
forgotten,  awakened  no  emotion  in  his  bosom  which  a  smile  of 
indifference  upon  his  lips  did  not  sufficiently  express. 

From  musings,  the  dreamy  languor  of  which  may  be  readily 
imagined,  he  was  awakened  by  the  sudden  glimpse  he  had 
caught  of  his  kinsman's  person.  The  mere  human  outline  was 
all  that  he  beheld,  and  this  for  an  instant  only.  At  first,  he 
was  disposed  to  fancy  that  it  was  one  of  his  own  dragoons,  all 
of  whom  had  gone  forward  in  that  direction,  and  one  of  whom 
might  have  been  left  in  the  hurry  of  his  comrades,  or  possibly 
detached  on  some  special  service. 

But  the  retreat  of  the  outlaw  had  been  too  precipitate — too 
like  a  flight — not  to  awaken  instantly  thexsuspicions  of  the  par- 
tisan. To  challenge  the  fugitive  by  the  usual  summons  was 
probably  to  alarm  his  own  enemies,  and  was  a  measure  not  to 


208  THE  SCOUT. 

be  thought  of.  To  hurry  in  pursuit  was  the  only  mode  of  as- 
certaining his  object,  and  this  mode  was  put  in  execution  as 
promptly  as  resolved  upon. 

The  partisan  rushed  forward,  but  the  object  of  his  pursuit  was 
no  longer  to  be  seen.  The  old  field,  on  one  hand,  was  bare  and 
desolate — the  park,  on  the  left,  did  not  attract  the  youth's  at- 
tention. Obviously,  the  melancholy  grove  which  led  to  and  en- 
vironed the  ancient  vault,  was  that  to  which  the  footsteps  of  the 
fugitive  would  most  naturally  incline.  Into  the  deep  shadows 
of  this  he  pressed  forward,  until  he  stood  beside  the  tomb. 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  he  speak,  challenging  the  fugitive  to 
."  stand"  whom  he  could  no  longer  see. 

The  summons  was  heard  the  moment  after  the  outlaw  had 
buried  himself  in  his  place  of  concealment.  The,  tones  of  his 
brother's  voice  arrested  the  outlaw.  That  voice  awakened  all 
his  rage  and  hate,  while  reminding  him  of  his  gage  of  battle ; 
and  when  he  remembered  that  Clarence  Conway  had  but  that 
instant  left  the  presence  of  the  woman  whom  he  sought,  and 
whom  he  had  not  been  permitted  to  see — when  he  remembered 
that  he  was  his  hated  rival,  and  when  he  thought  that  his  lips 
might  even  then  be  warm  with  the  fresh  kisses  of  hers — the 
feelings  in  his  heart  were  no  longer  governable  !  Uniting  with 
that  gnawing  impatience,  which  had  grown  almost  to  a  fever, 
and  was  a  frenzy,  under  his  late  constraint,  they  determined  him 
against  all  hazards ;  and,  darting  from  the  vault,  he  answered 
the  summons  of  his  foe  with  a  hiss  of  scorn  and  defiance.  . 

"Stand  thou! — Clarence  Conway — wretch  and  rebel!  We 
are  met  on  equal  terms  at  last." 

"Ay,"  cried  the  other,  nowise  startled  at  the  sudden  appa- 
rition; "  well  met !"  and  as  the  outlaw  sprang  forward  from  the 
tomb  with  uplifted  dagger,  Clarence  met  him  with  his  own. 

•  A  moment's  collision  only  had  ensued,  when  the  latter  struck 
his  weapon  into  the  mouth  of  his  enemy,  with  a  blow  so  force- 
ful as  to  precipitate  him  back  into  the  cavern  which  he  had  just 
left.  Clarence  sprang  into  the  tomb  after  him,  and  there,  in  the 
deep  darkness  of  the  scene,  among  the  mouldering  coffins  and 
dry  bones  of  the  dead,  the  brothers  grappled  in  deadly  despera- 
tion. 


A   CONFERENCE   IN  THE   TOMB.  209 

Death,  and  the  presence  of  its-awful  trophies,  had  no  terrors 
for  either.  The  living  passions  of  the  heart  were  triumphant 
over  their  threatening  shadows,  and  the  struggle  was  renewed 
between  the  two  with  a  degree  of  hate  and  fury  that  found  in- 
crease rather  than  diminution  from  the  solemn  and  dark  associa- 
tions by  which  they  were  encompassed.  But  few  words  were 
spoken,  and  those  only  in  the  breathing  intervals  which  their 
struggles  left  them.  The  language  of  the  outlaw  was  that  of 
vituperation  and  hate ;  that  of  Conway,  an  indignation  natural 
to  feelings  which  revolted  at  the  brutal  and  sanguinary  rage  of 
his  enemy,  tempered,  at  the  same  time,  with  equal  scorn  and 
resolution. 

In  Clarence  Conway,  the  chief  of  the  Black  Eiders  saw  only 
the  imbodied  form  of  all  the  evil  influences  which  he  had  felt  or 
fancied  from  his  boyhood ;  the  long-engendered  envy  and  mal- 
ice of  twenty  years  finding,  at  length,  its  unqualified  expression. 
In  his  eyes,  he  was  the  hateful  rival  who  had  beguiled  from 
him,  with  equal  facility,  the  regards  of  parents,  the  attachments 
of  friends,  the  smiles  of  fortune,  and  the  love  of  woman. 

Clarence^on  the  other  hand,  no  longer  saw  the  kinsman  of  his 
youth — the  son  of  the  same  father — in  the  person  of  the  out- 
law ;  or,  if  he  remembered  the  ties  of  blood  at  all,  it  was  only  to 
warm  his  hostility  the  more  against  one  who  had  so  commonly 
outraged,  and  so  cruelly  dishonored  them !  It  was  as  the  be- 
trayer of  his  country,  and  the  associate  of  the  most  savage  out- 
laws that  ever  arrayed  themselves  against  her  peace  and  lib- 
erty, that  he  struck,  and  struck  with  fatal  design  to  destroy  and 
extirpate  !  Nor  need  it  be  denied  that  these  motives  were 
stimulated  by  the  conviction  that  he  himself  fought  for  life, 
with  a  personal  foe  who  had  threatened  him  with  all  the  haunt- 
ing dangers  of  an  enduring  and  bloody  enmity — a  hatred  bom 
without  cause,  and  nourished  without  restraint — warmed  by  bad 
passions,  mean  rivalry,  and  a  suspicious  selfishness,  which  no 
labor  of  love  could  render  reasonable,  and  which  could  only 
finally  cease  in  the  death  of  one  or  both  of  the  combatants.  The 
incoherent  language,  the  broken  words,  and  fiendish  threaten- 
ings  of  the  outlaw,  left  nothing  on  this  subject  to  conjecture ; 
and  while  the  two  writhed  together  in  their  narrow  apartment, 


210  THE   SCOUT. 

the  otherwise  horrible  stillness  of  their  strife  might  be  thought 
relieved  and  rendered  human  by  the  bursts  of  passion  and  invec- 
tive which  fell  the  while  from  the  lips  of  both.  But  these 
caused  no  interruption  to  the  conflict.  They  fought  only  with 
daggers,  though  both  were  provided  with  sword  and  pistol.  A 
mutual  sense  of  the  proximity  of  those  whom  neither  wished  to 
alarm,  rendered  thern^  careful  not  to  employ  weapons  which 
could  draw  a  third  party  to  the  scene  of  strife.  Besides,  the 
dagger  was  the  only  weapon  that  might  be  employed  in  their 
limited  area  with  any  propriety.  This  weapon,  deadly  in  the 
close  struggle  as  it  usually  is,  was  rendered  less  effectual  in  the 
imperfect  light  of  the  place,  and  by  the  baffling  readiness  of 
their  rival  skill.  They  both  felt  that  the  struggle  must  be  fatal, 
and  did  not,  accordingly,  suffer  their  rage  to  disarm  their  provi- 
dence and  caution.  Still,  several  wounds  had  been  given  and 
received  on  either  side.  One  of  these  had  penetrated  the  right 
arm  of  the  partisan,  but  the  point  of  the  dagger  had  been  diverted, 
and  the  wound  was  one  of  the  flesh  only,  not  deep  nor  disabling. 
The  outlaw  had  been  less  fortunate.  That  first  blow,  which  he 
had  received  in  the  mouth  at  the  entrance  of  the  vault,  had 
necessarily  influenced  the  combat  as  first  blows  usually  do  ; 
and,  though  .not  of  serious  hurt,  for  the  point  of  the  weapon 
found  resistance  against  his  clenched  teeth,  two  of  which  were 
broken,  still  it  seriously  affected  the  relations  of  the  parties. 
The  one  it  encouraged,  the  other  it  provoked  to  increased  anger, 
which  impaired  his  coolness.  A  second  and  third  wound  in 
each  of  his  arms  had  followed  in  the  vault,  and  a  moment  came 
in  which  a  fourth  promised  to  be  final. 

Clarence  had  grappled  closely  with  his  kinsman,  had  borne 
him  backward,  and  succeeded  in  prostrating  him,  face  upward, 
upon  the  pile  of  coffins  which  rose  in  the  centre  of  the  tomb. 
Here,  with  his  knee  upon  the  breast  of  his  enemy,  one  hand 
upon  his  throat,  and  the  other  bearing  on  high  the  already 
dripping  steel,  the  stroke  and  the  death  seemed  equally  inevita- 
ble. So,  indeed,  the  outlaw  considered  it;  and  the  language 
of  his  lips  at  that  moment  of  his  greatest  peril,  spoke  more  de- 
cisively for  his  manhood  than,  perhaps,  it  had  ever  done  before. 

"  Strike  !"  he  cried ;  "  I  fear  you  not !     The  devil  you  have 


M, 

A  CONFERENCE  IN  THE  TOMB.  211 

served  has  served  yon  faithfully  in  turn !  I  ask  you  not  for 
mercy — I  loathe  you,  Clarence  Conway — I  loathe  and  curse 
you  to  the  last.  Strike  then,  as  I  should  have  stricken  you, 
had  the  chance  fallen  to  my  lot." 

The  weakness  of  a  human  and  a  social  sentiment  made  the 
youth  hesitate.  He  shivered  as  he  thought  upon  the  ties  of 
blood — ties  which  lie  could  never  entirely  forget,  however 
much  they  might  be  scorned  by  his  profligate  brother.  He  was 
still  his  father's  son — he  would  have  spared — he  wished  to 
spare  him. 

While  he  hesitated,  a  new  and  desperate  effort  was  made  by 
the  prostrate  outlaw.  Hope  and  fear  united  for  a  last  and  ter- 
rible struggle.  He  half  rose— he  grasped  the  arm  with  which 
Clarence  held  him,  with  demoniac  strength,  and  flinging  him- 
self upward,  with  the  exercise  of  all  that  muscle  which  he  pos- 
sessed in  almost  equal  degree  with  his  brother,  he  had  nearly 
shaken  himself  free  from  the  hold  which  the  latter  had  taken 
upon  him. 

It  was  then  that  the  dagger  of  Clarence  descended  !  — [then, 
when  it  became  obvious  that  no  indulgence  could  be  given  to 
his  foe  without  danger  to  himself.  But  the  blow,  even  then,  was 
not  final — not  fatal.  It  touched  no  vital  region.  The  desper- 
ate effort  of  the  outlaw,  though  it  failed  in  its  object,  effected 
another,  which  operated  to  his  partial  safety.  The  mouldering 
coflins  upon  which  he  was  stretched  yielded  beneath  his  gigan- 
tic struggles,  sank  under  the  violence  and  pressure,  and,  ere  the 
blow  reached  the  heart  of  the  threatened  victim,  came  down, 
with  a  fearful  crash,  in  fragments  upon  the  damp  floor  of  the 
vault.  The  dagger-point  barely  grazed  the  breast  of  the  falling 
man ;  and  Clarence,  still  grappling  with  his  foe  and  grappled 
by  him  in  turn,  was  dragged  downward  to  the  earth,  and  the 
two  lay  together  for  an  instant,  without  strife,  among  the 
crushed  and  bleached  bones  of  bygone  generations.  Both  were 
breathless,  but  there  was  no  mitigation  of  their  fury.  With 
some  difficulty  they  scrambled  to  their  feet,  separated  for  a 
moment,  but  only,  in  the  next,  to  renew  their  terrible  embrace. 

"  Let  there  be  an  end  to  this  !"  said  Morton,  hoarsely.  "  Let 
us  go  forth  into  the  moonlight ;  we  can  do  nothing  here,  it  seems." 


212  THE  SCOUT. 

"  Ay,  anywhere  !"  was  the  reply  of  the  other ;  "  but  let  it  be 
quickly  :  I  have  not  a  moment  to  spare." 

"  A  moment  should  suffice  for  either,  and  would  have  done  so, 
had  there  been  sufficient  light  for  the  business.  So  far,  Clarence 
Conway,  you  have  had  the  matter  all  to  yourself.  But  there  is 
a  day  for  every  dog,  they  tell  us ;  and,  though  still  there  be  no 
daylight,  I  trust  that  my  day  is  at  hand.  Lead  the  way ;  I  am 
ready.  Let  the  dagger  still  be  the  weapon.  It  is  a  sure  one, 
and  makes  but  little  clatter.  Besides,  it  brings  us  so  much  the 
nigher  to  each  other,  which  is  brotherly,  you  know." 

The  sterner,  perhaps  the  nobler,  features  of  the  outlaw  stood 
out  in  bolder  relief  at  the  moment  which  he  himself  believed 
was  one  of  the  greatest  danger.  Morton  was  not  deficient  in 
animal  courage.  It  was  only  less  frequently  apparent,  because, 
like  the  Italian,  he  preferred  the  practice  of  a  subtler  agent.  A 
fierce  laugh  concluded  his  attempt  at  playfulness.  To  this  the 
heart  of  Clarence  gave  back  no  response.  Though  not  less 
fearless  than  his  brother — nay,  though  greatly  excited  by  the 
strife — it  yet  had,  to  his  mind,  the  aspect  of  a  horror  which  he 
could  not  complacently  behold.  The  few  moments  consumed  in 
this  brief  dialogue  had  brought  him  back  to  those  reflections 
which  the  provocation  of  the  strife  had  almost  wholly  banished. 
But  he  suffered  no  mental  or  moral  scruples,  at  such  a  moment, 
to  impair  his  manhood. 

"  I  too  am  ready,"  was  his  only  answer  as  he  left  the  vault. 
He  was  followed  by  the  outlaw ;  aud  there,  in  another  moment, 
they  stood  together  on  the  green  sward  before  the  tomb,  fiercely 
confronting  each  other  with  eyes  of  mortal  hate — utterly  un- 
moved by  the  pure  and  placid  smiles  of  that  maiden  moon  whose 
blessed  light  they  were  about  to  employ  for  the  most  unblessed 
purpose. 


THE  COMBAT  OF  THE  BROTHERS.          213 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  COMBAT  OF  THE  BROTHERS. 

THE  ancient  additaments  for  the  groundwork  of  the  grand  or 
terrible,  the  wild  or  warlike,  would  have  borne  aspects  not 
unlike  their  own.  Ordinarily,  the  painter  of  the  darker  passions 
is  very  apt  to  accompany  their  explosion  with  a  sympathetic 
action  on  the  part  of  the  natural  world.  The  hero,  just  before 
committing  the  deed  of  blood,  stalks  upon  the  scene,  surrounded 
by  the  gloomy  shadows  of  the  night ;  storm  and  thunder  attend 
upon  his  footsteps,  and  the  fiery  eyes  of  the  rebuking  heaven 
glare  along  his  path  in  flashes  of  impetuous  lightning.  A  voice 
of  warning  is  heard  to  mutter  in  the  sky.  The  bloody  dagger, 
the  awful  sign  of  the  crime  which  is  already  acted  in  the  mind 
of  the  criminal,  hangs  in  the  air  above  him,  and  marshals  him 
the  way  that  he  must  follow ;  while  the  ghosts  of  the  past  reap- 
pear, shaking  their  gory  locks,  to  impede  or  to  precipitate  the 
ghost-like  progress  of  the  future.  All  things  are  made  to  act  in 
harmony  with  that  terrible  passion  which  has  already  thrown 
over  the  heart  of  the  possessor  the  uniform  "brown  horror" 
which  distinguishes  its  own  unvarying  aspect.  There  is  no 
blue  in  the  transparent  softness  of  the  noonday  sky ;  there  is  no 
living  green  in  the  fresh  sward  of  the  luxuriant  earth  ;  the  songs 
of  the  one,  and  the  mellow  voices  of  the  other,  receive  their 
savage  or  sad  tones  wholly  from  the  desolate  or  depraved  soul 
which  speaks  in  the  bosom  of  the  fated  actor.  All  forms  and 
features,  sights  and  sounds,  are  made  to  correspond  with  his 
prevailing  passion ;  and  the  hues  of  sky  and  land  become  natu- 
rally incarnadined  by  the  bloody  mood  which  governs  in  his 
soul.  The  voices  which  he  hears,  whether  of  earth  or  sky,  are 
only  such  as  rise  from  the  groaning  victims,  who  start,  perhaps, 
from  the  embrace  of  slumber,  to  sleep  in  that  of  death. 

But,  very  different  from  these  were  the  auxiliary  aspects  of 


214  THE   SCOUT. 

that  scene  upon  which  the  rival  kinsmen  were  about  to  contend. 
Never  was  night  more  beautiful,  more  uniformly  beautiful  and 
tender,  in  any  one  of  its  thousand  attributes  and  agents.  The 
moon,  almost  at  her  full,  was  high  above  the  forest  tops,  and 
hallowing  its  deep  and  dim  recesses  with  innumerable  streams 
of  glory  from  her  own  celestial  fountain.  Few  were  the  clouds 
that  gathered  about  her  path,  and  these,  sharing  in  her  gifts  of 
beauty,  became  tributary  to  her  lustrous  progress.  A  gentle 
breeze,  rising  from  the  east,  accompanied  her  march,  and  the 
tall  pines  swayed  to  and  fro  beneath  its  pressure,  yielding  a 
whispering  music,  like  those  faint  utterances  of  a  sweet  com- 
plaint which  are  made  by  the  curling  billows  of  the  sea,  when 
they  break  and  die  away  in  a  languid  struggle  with  the  shore. 
These  breathings  found  fit  fellowship  in  the  gentle  murmurs  of 
the  Congaree,  as  it  rippled  away  on  its  sleepless  path,  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  scene  of  strife.  Lighted  by  the  moon  above, 
its  winding  form  might  be  seen,  in  silvery  glimpses,  where  the 
vistas  of  the  woods  had  been  opened  by  that  tasteful  art  which 
had  presided  over  the  barony  from  its  first  settlement.  Nothing 
was  dark,  nothing  sad,  stern,  or  terrible,  but  the  human  agents 
of  the  scene. 

There  they  stood,  frowning  defiance  upon  each  other,  and 
looking  grim  and  ghastly,  in  the  pure,  sweet  atmosphere  of  light 
by  which  they  were  enveloped.  The  aspect  of  the  outlaw  was 
particularly  terrible,  in  consequence  of  the  wound  which  he  had 
received  in  the  mouth  at  the  beginning  of  the  conflict.  The 
upper  lip  was  divided  by  the  stroke,  the  teeth  shattered ;  and,, 
smeared  and  clotted  with  blood,  his  face  presented  the  appear- 
ance of  one  already  stamped  with  all  the  features  of  the 
grave,  and  marked  with  an  expression  of  hate  and  passion 
which  increased  its  terrors.  That  of  the  partisan  was  stern,  but 
unruffled  —  pale,  but  inflexible.  His  eyes  were  full  of  that  fiery 
energy  which,  perhaps,  distinguished  equally  the  characters  of 
the  brothers.  The  lips  were  closely  compressed,  and  resembled 
that  sweet  serenity,  that  resigned  and  noble  melancholy,  which 
peculiarly  distinguishes  the  same  feature  in  the  instance  of 
nearly  every  Indian  warrior  that  we  iiave  ever  seen.  There 
was  no  faltering  in  his  soul — he  was  as  firm  of  purpose  as  his 


THE  COMBAT  OP  THE  BROTHERS.          215 

*»^W 

enemy  ;  but  there  were  other  moods  at  work  within  him  which 
the  outlaw  could  not  feel.  Clarence  Conway  was  not  the  per- 
son to  entertain  hate  alone,  to  the  exclusion  of  other  and  better 
feelings. 

The  outlaw  unbuckled  the  sabre  from  his  side,  the  sable  belt, 
and  threw  them  down,  with  the  pistols  which  he  carried,  at  the 
foot  of  the  vault.  He  seemed  resolute  that  there  should  be  no 
possible  obstruction  to  his  movements  in  the  struggle  which  was 
about  to  take  place.  Clarence  Conway,  on  the  other  hand,  took 
no  such  precaution.  He  calmly  surveyed  the  movements  of  his 
opponent  without  changing  muscle  or  positions.  His  eye  glanced, 
however,  with  a  momentary  anxiety,  to  the  clear  blue  vault, 
and  the  pale,  pure  presence  looking  down  upon  him  from  above, 
and  turned  involuntarily,  though  for  a  single  instant  only,  to  the 
distant  dwelling  of  Flora  Middleton.  But  this  was  not  a  moment 
to  betray  the  weakness  of  the  sentimentalist  or  lover.  His 
enemy  stood  before  him,  and  was  ready.  The  outlaw  had  wit- 
nessed the  direction  of  his  foeman's  eye,  and  the  words  of  prov- 
ocation gushed  from  him  in  increasing  bitterness. 

"  Ay,  look,  Clarence  Conway — look !  It  may  be  for  the  last 
time  !  For  that  matter  we  may  both  look ;  for  I  tell  you,  there 
shall  be  no  child's  play  between  us.  Here,  on  this  green  turf, 
and  under  that  smiling  heaven,  shall  I  be  stretched  in  death, 
ere  I  yield  up  a  single  sentiment  of  that  hate  which  makes  it 
necessary  that  one  of  us  should  die  for  the  peace  and  security 
of  the  other." 

"  And  is  it  necessary,  either  for  your  peace  or  mine,  that  such 
should  be  the  case  ?"  demanded  Clarence  Conway. 

"  Ay  !  absolutely  necessary.  We  can  not  breathe  the  same 
atmosphere.  Come!" 

Their  arms  were  raised,  their  feet  planted  in  opposition — 
their  eyes  fixed  upon  each  other,  and  riveted  in  glassy,  serpent- 
like  watchfulness  and  calm. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?"  was  the  question  of  the  outlaw. 

"Stay!"  replied  Clarence,  while  he  continued  to  regard  his 
enemy  with  a  face  of  increased  deliberation. 

"Stay!  —  and  why  should  we  stay?"  retorted  the  other. 
"  Are  you  so  soon  quieted !  Does  your  stomach  revolt  at  tho 


216  THE  SCOUT. 

idea  of  a  final  struggle  which  shall  end  the  strife  between 
us?" 

"It  does!" 

"  Ha !  Has  it  then  come  to  that  ?"  was  the  ironical  speech 
of  the  outlaw ;  but  Clarence  interrupted  him  with  a  cool  firmness 
of  tone  and  look  which  disarmed  the  intended  sarcasm. 

"  You  may  spare  your  irony,  Edward  Morton.  That  I  fear 
you  not,  you  should  know.  That  I  am  your  superior  in  strength 
you  have  long  since  discovered — that  I  am,  at  least,  your  match 
with  any  weapon  known  to  either  of  us,  you  can  not  deny ;  and 
you  know  that  I  have  no  dread  of  death." 

"  To  what  does  all  this  tend  1  It  means  everything  or  noth- 
ing. Grant  what  you  have  said,  still  it  does  not  follow  that  you 
shall  triumph  over  me.  You  may  slay  me,  but  I  can  grapple 
with  you,  Clarence  Conway — I  can  rush  upon  your  weapon, 
and,  sacrificing  myself,  succeed  in  killing  you  !  Ha !  is  not  that 
undeniable  also  ]" 

"  Perhaps  so ;"  was  the  deliberate  answer.  "  But  even  this 
does  not  influence  me  in  what  I  mean  to  say.  There  is  a  con- 
sideration of  far  more  weight  which  would  make  me  avoid  this 
conflict." 

"  Ah  !  it  is  that,  eh  ?  But  you  shall  not  avoid  it !  I  am  a 
desperate  man,  Clarence  Conway,  and  such  a  man  always  has 
the  life  of  his  enemy  at  the  point  of  his  dagger !" 

"  Be  it  so ;  but  hear  me.  For  all  your  crimes,  all  your  hate 
and  hostility  to  me — all  your  treachery  to  your  country — still 
I  shall  find  no  pleasure  in  being  your  executioner." 

"  Indeed !  But  be  not  too  sure.  It  has  not  yet  come  to 
that !"  cried  the  other.  "  There  are  twa  to  play  at  this  game, 
and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  shall  turn  the  tables  upon  you  this 
bout.  We  have  some  light  now  on  the  subject,  and  these  pricks 
which  you  gave  me  in  the  dark,  have  rather  warmed  me  for  the 
conflict.  They  rather  better  my  chances,  by  rousing  me  to  the 
proper  feeling  of  strife ;  as,  to  graze  the  bear  with  a  bullet,  is 
to  make  him  more  affectionate  in  his  squeeze.  So,  look  to  it ! 
our  embrace  will  be  a  close  one.  Come  on  quickly.  We  can 
not  too  soon  make  a  finish  now," 

"You   deceive   yourself,  Edward    Conway — fatally  deceive 


THE  COMBAT  OF  THE  BROTHERS.          217 

* 

yourself  if  you  have  such  a  fancy;"  replied  Clarence  solemnly. 
"If  we  encounter  again  I  shall  kill  you.     Nothing  can  save 
you.     I  feel  it^ — I  know  it.     I  can  not  help  but  kill  you." 
"  Insolent  braggart !     But,  come  on  !" 

"  I  have  said  nothing  but  the  truth,  and  what  I  feel  must  be 
the  result  of  this  struggle.  Hear  me  but  an  instant  more,  and 
judge.  I  shall  find  no  pleasure  in  taking  your  life.  I  can  not 
forget  many  things,  and  I  am  not  desperate.  However  you 
may  deride  and  despise  the  claims-  of  blood  and  the  opinions  of 
society,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  do  so.  For  this  reason  I  would 
forego  the  indulgence  of  those  passions,  Edward  Conway — " 

"Not  Conway — Morton,  Cunningham! — anything  but  Con- 
way  !" 

A  smile  of  scorn  passed  over  the  lips  of  Clarence. 
"  I  thank  you  for  your  correction,"  he  said.  "  But  this  is  a 
small  matter.  To  return.  My  passions  and  enmities  are  scarcely 
less  active  than  yours  ;  but  I  would  forego  their  enjoyment  be- 
cause of  my  greater  responsibilities.  I  now  make  you  an  offer. 
Let  us  not  fight ;  and  you  shall  go  free.  I  will  facilitate  your 
progress  to  Charleston — nay,  insure  it  —  and  you  will  then  be 
enabled,  unencumbered  by  the  villanous  banditti  to  which  you 
have  been  attached,  to  fly  the  country.  I  know  that  you  have 
a  large  booty  stored  away  in  Jamaica — enough  to  give  you 
competence  for  life.  Let  that  suffice  you.  Leave  the  country 
while  the  chance  is  allowed  you — while  you  may  do  so  in  safe- 
ty. Three  weeks  hence,  and  Greene  will  traverse  all  this  re- 
gion !" 

"Fool  fancies!"  exclaimed  the  other  rudely..  "Those  are 
Rawdon's  trumpets." 

"  You  will  not  long  hear  them,  except  sounding  the  retreat. 
The  war  is  well  nigh  over." 

"  Pshaw  !  this  is  mere  folly.     We  came  here  to  fight,  I  think. 
The  sooner  the  better !     Come  on  !" 
"  I  would  save  you — spare  you  !" 

"I  shall  not  spare  you!  Your  conceit  is  insufferable,  and 
shall  be  whipped  out  of  you,  by  heavens !  this  very  night. 
Come  on,  then  ;  I  long  to  give  or  take  my  quittance.  Your 
head  is  turned,  I  see,  by  that  woman.  Your  Flora,  my  Flora 

10 


218  THE   SCOUT. 

— the  Flora  of  Congaree — ^u  have  been  lipping,  have  you? 
— and  you  like  the  taste — sweet  flavor  ! — " 

"  Ruffian — wretch  ?"  cried  Clarence,  with  a  fury  that  seemed 
as  little  governable  now  as  that  of  the  outlaw,  "  you  are  doomed. 
I  can  not  spare  you  now." 

"  I  ask  you  not.  Let  the  steel  speak  for  both  of  us.  Mine 
has  been  blushing  at  the  time  you  have  consumed  in  prating. 
Come  on — come  on  !  Strike  as  if  your  heart  were  in  it,  Clar- 
ence Conway,  for,  by  God's  death,  I  will  have  it  in  your  heart, 
if  hell  has  not  grown  deaf  to  human  prayer.  Good  blade,  to 
your  work !  It  is  some  pleasure,  Clarence  Conway,  to  know 
that  yours  is  tolerably  pure  blood — at  least  it  will  do  no  dis- 
honor to  my  dagger." 

The  struggle  followed  instantaneously.  The  outlaw  pro- 
ceeded to  act  his  declared  intentions.  His  object  seemed  to  be 
to  get  within  the  arm  of  his  opponent — to  close  at  all  hazards, 
and  sacrifice  himself  in  the  bloody  determination  to  destroy  his 
enemy. 

But  Clarence  was  no  ordinary  foe.  His  anger  did  not  deprive 
him  of  his  coolness,  and  his  skill  with  the  weapon  was  far  be- 
yond that  of  most  men  of  his  time.  Still,  it  required  all  his 
watchfulness  and  circumspection  —  all  his  readiness  of  eye  and 
arm — to  baffle  the  purpose  of  the  other.  The  blind  fury  of 
j;he  outlaw,  perhaps,  served  him  quite  as  effectually  as  did  his 
own  resources.  It  made  him  fearless,  but  not  fearful — full  of 
purposes  of  dangers,  but  not  dangerous — that  is,  comparatively 
speaking — for,  so  long  as  the  partisan  preserved  his  composure, 
and  kept  only  on  the  defensive,  his  enemy  did  not  find  it  so 
certainly  true  as  he  had  affirmed,  that  a  desperate  man  always 
carries  the  life  of  his  enemy  at  the  point  of  his  dagger.  He 
had  tried  this  more  than  once,  and  had  always  been  repelled, 
sometimes  with  hurts,  which  were  not  always  slight,  though,  as 
yet,  in  no  case  dangerous. 

His  constant  failure  warned  him  of  the  folly  of  his  own  fury, 
and  its  utter  ineffectiveness  to  achieve  the  object  of  his  desires. 
He  recovered  himself,  and  adopted  another  policy.  He  renewed 
those  coarse  sneers  and  insinuations  which  had  been  always 
effectual  in  provoking  Clarence,  and  which  had  closed  their 


THE  COMBAT  OF  THE  BROTHERS.          219 

previous  conference.  He  spoke  of  Flora  Middleton,  and  in  such 
language  as  was  admirably  calculated  to  throw  a  lover  off  his 
guard. 

"  You  flatter  yourself,"  he  said,  "  that  you  have  just  made  a 
conquest ;  but  have  you  asked  its  value  ?  I  tell  you,  Clarence 
Conway,  if  ever  woman  spoke  falsely,  Flora  Middleton  spoke 
falsely  to  you  when  she  consented  to  be  yours.  I  know  her ; 
nay,  man,  when  you  charged  me  with  having  been  to  Brier 
'Park,  you  knew  but  half  the  truth.  Shall  I  tell  you  that  she 
was  then  as  indulgent  to  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders  as  she 
has  been  since  to  his  more  moral  kinsman  1  Here,  by  this  old 
vault,  did  he  walk  with  her  at  evening ;  and  you  know  what  it 
is,  or  you  should  know,  to  wander  among  dim  groves  at  sunset 
with  a  romantic  damsel.  The  heart  will  yield  then,  if  ever.  It 
softens  with  the  hour,  and  melts.  Ha !  are  you  touched — 
touched  at  last  1  Know,  then,  it  was  my  turn  to  lip  and  to  taste 
as  cordially — " 

"Liar!  clog!  reptile !"  cried  Clarence,  striking  at  him  furi- 
ously as  he  heard  these  words ;  "  Know  I  not  that  you  have 
striven  to  fdl  her  pure  ears  with  falsehoods  almost  as  foul  as 
those  you  would  now  thrust  into  mine  V 

"You  have  it !"  cried  the  other,  with  a  yell  of  delight,  as  his 
lunge  carried  the  point  of  his  dagger  into  the  breast  of  the  parti- 
san ;  fortunately  a  flesh-wound  only,  but  one  in  dangerous  prox- 
imity to  the  angry  heart  that  was  now  boiling  in  its  neighbor- 
hood. The  youth  felt  his  imprudence ;  but  if  he  had  not,  there 
was  a  counselling  friend  at  hand,  who  did  not  suffer  him  to  go 
unreminded.  This  was  Jack  Bannister,  who,  in  the  shelter  of 
a  tree  contiguous,  to  which  he  had  crawled  unseen,  had  been  a 
spectator  of  the  brief  conflict,  during  the  short  time  it  had  lasted, 
on  the  outside  of  the  vault. 

"  Don't  you  let  him  fool  you,  Clarence ;  he's  only  trying  to 
make  you  mad — that's  his  trick.  But  don't  you  mind  him  — 
he's  a  born  liar,  and  if  you  stick  as  you  should,  he'll  die  with  a 
lie  in  his  mouth.  Strike  away,  Clarence,  as  you  can  strike; 
and  only  forget  that  you  ever  had  a  father  who  was  so  foolish 
as  to  git  a  son  of  the  wrong  breed.  Put  it  to  him,  and  shut 
up  your  nater  till  it's  all  done.  God  ha'  mercy  'pon  me,  but 


220  THE   SCOUT.          ,; 

it  seems  so  nateral  for  me  now  to  want  to  put  in  and  kill 
him  !" 

"Ha!  you  have  brought  your  bullies  upon  me! "were  the 
words  of  Morton,  as  the  first  accents  of  Bannister  reached  his 
ears.  "  But  I  fear  them  not !" — and  he  renewed  the  assault 
with  increased  determination ;  if  that  indeed  were  possible. 

"Keep  back — meddle  not,  John  Bannister!"  cried  Clarence. 
"  I  need  no  assistance." 

"  I  know  it,  Clarence ;  but,  Lord  love  you !  don't  git  into  a 
foolish  passion.  Go  to  it  as  ef  'twas  a  common  work  you  was 
a-doing — splitting  rails,  or  digging  ditches,  or  throwing  up  po- 
tato-hills. Jest  you  hit  and  stick  as  ef  you  was  a-managing  a 
dug-out,  or  a  raft,  or  some  sich  foolish  consarn.  For  sich  a  foul- 
mouth  as  he  to  talk  agin  Miss  Flora !  Why,  it's  as  foolish  as  a 
wolf  to  bark  at  the  moonlight.  But  don't  let  me  interrupt  you. 
Go  to  it !  I'm  jest  a-looking  on  to  see  the  eend,  and  obsarve 
fair  play ;  only  make  haste,  Clarence  j  shut  him  up  as  soon  as 
you  can,  for  the  bugle's  a  sounding  from  the  head  of  the  avenue, 
and  there's  little  time  to  lose." 

The  warning  was  not  to  be  disregarded,  and  Clarence  Con- 
way  soon  brought  the  strife  to  an  issue.  The  resumption  of  his 
caution  provoked  the  outlaw  into  a  renewal  of  his  rashness,  and 
his  dagger-hand  was  caught  in  the  grasp  of  the  partisan  at  the 
same  moment  when  the  weapon  of  the  other  sunk  into  his  breast. 
Clarence  relaxed  his  hold  upon  his  victim  the  instant  that  the 
blow  was  delivered.  He  fancied  that  he  had  given  him  the 
coup  de  grace  as  he  intended  ;  and  a  strange,  keen,  sudden  pang 
rushed  like  lightning  through  his  own  bosom. 

The  outlaw,  meanwhile,  felt  himself  about  to  fall.  A  faint- 
ness  covered  his  frame ;  his  sight  was  growing  dark ;  and,  with 
the  last  convulsive  moment  of  reflection,  he  threw  himself  for- 
ward upon  the  breast  of  his  enemy,  whose  dagger-point  was  now 
turned  toward  the  ground.  His  left  arm  was  tightly  clasped 
about  the  form  of  Clarence ;  while  his  right,  with  all  the  remain- 
ing consciousness  of  his  mind,  and  the  concentrated,  buj;  fast 
failing  vigor  of  his  frame,  addressed  a  blow  at  the  heart  of  the 
latter,  which  it  needed  sufficient  strength  only  to  render  fatal. 

But  the  arm  of  the  outlaw  sank  down  in  the  effort  ere  the 


CAPRICES  OF  FORTUNE.  221 

dagger  reached  its  mark.  His  hold  upon  his  enemy  was  in- 
stantly relaxed,  and  he  fell  fainting  at  the  feet  of  Clarence,  ere 
the  latter  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  the  horror  which  he 
felt,  to  be  altogether  conscious  of  the  danger  from  which  he  had 
escaped.  With  every  justification  for  the  deed  which  necessity 
could  bring,  he  yet  felt  how  full  of  pain  and  sorrow,  if  not  of 
crime,  was  the  shedding  of  a  brother's  blood. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

CAPRICES    OF    FORTUNE. 

WE  have  omifted,  in  the  proper  place,  to  record  certain  events 
that  happened,  during  the  progress  of  the  conflict,  in  order  that 
nothing  should  retard  the  narrative  of  that  event.  But,  ere  it 
had  reached  its  termination,  and  while  its  results  were  in  some 
measure  doubtful,  a  new  party  came  upon  the  scene,  who  de- 
serves our  attention,  and  commanded  that  of  the  faithful  wood- 
man. A  cry — a  soft  but  piercing  cry — unheard  by  either  of 
the  combatants,  first  drew  the  eyes  of  the  former  to  the  neigh- 
boring wood  from  which  it  issued ;  and,  simultaneously,  a  slen- 
der form  darted  out  of  the  cover,  and  hurried  forward  in  the 
direction  of  the  strife.  Bannister  immediately  put  himself  in 
readiness  to  prevent  any  interference  between  the  parties ;  and, 
when  he  saw  the  stranger  pushing  forward,  and  wielding  a  glit- 
tering weapon  in  his  grasp,  as  he  advanced,  he  rushed  from  his 
own  concealment,  and  threw  himself  directly  in  the  pathway  of 
the  intruder.  The  stranger  recoiled  for  an  instant,  while  Ban- 
nister commanded  him  to  stand. 

"  Back  !"  said  the  latter,  "  back,  my  lad,  till  it's  all  over.  It 
won't  be  long  now,  I  warrant  you.  They'll  soon  finish  it  j  but 
until  they've  done — " 

He  drew  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  which  he  cocked,  presented, 
and  thus  closed  the  sentence.  The  stranger  shrunk  back  at 
this  suddei^ptnd  sturdy  interruption ;  but,  recovering  a  moment 


222  THE   SCOUT. 

after,  appeared  determined  to  press  forward.  The  second  warn- 
ing of  the  scout  was  more  imperative  than  the  first. 

"Stand  back,  I  tell  you!"  cried  the  resolute  woodman,  "or 
by  blazes,  I'll  send  daylight  and  moonlight  both  through  you 
with  an  ounce  bullet.  I  ain't  trifling  with  you,  stranger ;  be 
sartin,  I'm  serious  enough  when  I  take  pistol  in  hand.  Back,  I 
tell  you,  till  the  tug's  over,  and  then  you  may  see  and  be  seen. 
Move  another  step  and  I'll  flatten  you." 

"No,  no,  no!"  was  the  incoherent  response;  "let  me  pass! 
I  will  pass !" 

The  sounds  which  assured  the  woodman  of  the  determination 
of  the  stranger,  were  so  faintly  and  breathlessly  articulated, 
that,  at  any  other  time,  Jack  Bannister  would  have  only  laughed 
at  the  obstinate  purpose  which  they  declared ;  but  the  moment 
was  too  precious  for  his  friend,  and  he  was  too  earnest  in  secu- 
ring fair  play  for  all  parties,  not  to  regard  theiAenor  rather  than 
their  tone. 

"  If  you  do,  I'll  shoot  you,  as  sure'as  a  gun  !"  was  his  answer. 

"  They  will  kill  him  !"  murmured  the  stranger,  in  accents  of 
titter  despondency.  He  struck  his  head  with  his  palm  in  a 
manner  of  the  deepest  wo  ;  then,  as  if  seized  with  a  new  impulse, 
waved  a  dagger  in  the  air,  and  darted  upon  the  woodman. 

So  sudden  was  the  movement  and  unexpected,  that  Bannister 
never  thought  to  shoot,  but,  clubbing  his  pistol,  he  dealt  the  as- 
sailant a  blow  upon  the  skull,  which  laid  him  prostrate.  A  faint 
cry  escaped  the  lips  of  the  youth  in  falling ;  and  Bannister  fan- 
cied that  his  own  name  formed  a  part  of  its  burden.  He  was 
also  surprised  when  he  recollected  that  the  enemy,  though  rush- 
ing on  him  with  a  dagger,  had  yet  forborne  to  use  it,  although 
sufficient  opportunity  had  been  allowed  him  to  do  so,  had  such 
been  his  purpose,  in  the  surprise  occasioned  by  his  first  onslaught. 
But  the  moment  was  not  one  favorable  to  reflection.  Clarence 
had  now  overcome  his  enemy,  who  was  prostrate  and  insensible  ; 
and,  faint  himself,  was  bending  over  him  in  a  fruitless  effort  to 
stanch  the  blood  which  issued  from  a  deep  wound  on  the  side. 
Bannister  approached  him  with  the  inquiry — 

"  God  be  thanked,  Clarence,  that  you  are  uppermost.  How 
is  it  with  him  ?  Is  he  dead  ?"  "% 


CAPRICES   OP   FORTUNE.  223 

"  I  hope  not.  He  breathes  still.  There  is  motion  in  his 
heart." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  it,  Clarence.  I  ain't  sorry  that  you  ha'n't 
killed  him,  for  I'd  rather  you  shouldn't  do  it ;  hut  I'm  mighty 
sorry  he's  not  dead.  It'll  be  all  the  better  for  him  if  he  is. 
'Twould  save  a  neck  smooth  to  the  last.  But  come,  there's  a 
great  stir  at  the  house.  I  can  hear  the  voices." 

"  But  we  can  not  leave  him  here,  Jack.  Something  must  be 
done  for  him.  Would  to  God  I  had  never  seen  him,  for  I  feel 
most  wretched,  now  that  it's  all  over." 

"  'Tain't  a  time  to  feel  such  feelings.  You  couldn't  help  it, 
Clarence.  He  would  force  it  upon  you.  Didn't  I  hear  him 
myself?  But  it's  no  use  talking  here.  We  must  brush  up  and 
be  doing.  I've  given  a  knock  to  a  chap  here,  that's  laid  him 
out  as  quiet  as  you  laid  the  other.  A  small  chap  he  was.  I 
might  have  stopped  him,  I'm  thinking,  with  a  lighter  hand : 
but  I  hadn't  time  to  think,  he  jumped  so  spry  upon  me." 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  demanded  Clarence. 

"  I  don't  know ;  a  friend  to  Edward  Conway,  looking  after 
him,  I  reckon.  I'll  see  all  about  him  directly,  when  once  you're 
off.  But  you  must  trot  at  once.  There's  a  mighty  stir  all 
about  the  house,  and  I'm  thinking,  more  than  once,  that  I've 
hearn  a  whoo-whoop-halloo,  below  thar  in  the  direction  of  the 
flats.  'Twas  a  mighty  suspicious  sort  of  whoop  for  an  owl  to 
make,  and  I'm  jub'ous  'twa'n't  one  that  had  a  good  schoolmaster. 
'Twa'n't  altogether  nateral." 

"  What  are  we  to  do  with  him  ?"  demanded  Clarence,  as  he 
gazed  with  an  aspect  of  complete  bewilderment,  now  at  the  body 
of  his  kinsman,  and  now  at  the  distant  mansion. 

"  Do  !  I  take  it,  it's  jest  the  reasonable  time  to  hearken  to 
the  words  of  scripter :  '  Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead ;'  and 
though  I  can't  exactly  see  how  they're  to  set  about  it,  yet,  when 
people's  hard  pushed  as  we  are,  it's  very  well  to  put  upon  holy 
book  all  such  difficult  matters  as  we  can't  lay  straight  by  our 
own  hands.  I'm  thinking,  we'd  best  lay  him  quietly  in  the 
vault  and  leave  him." 

"  But  he's  not  dead,  Bannister,  and  with  care  might  recover." 

"  More'%  the  pity.     It's  better  for  you  and  me,  and  himself 


224  THE   SCOUT. 

too,  if  he  don't  recover  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  very  onnateral  that 
you  should  take  pains  first  to  put  him  to  death,  and  the  next 
moment  worry  yourself  to  bring  him  to  life  again." 

"  I  took  no  such  pains,  Bannister.  I  would  not  have  struck 
him  if  I  could  have  avoided  the  necessity,  and  I  strove  to 
avoid  making  his  wounds  fatal." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  that  agin.  But  this  ain't  no  time  for  palaver- 
ing. You'll  soon  have  these  dragoons  of  Coffin  scouring  the 
grounds  of  the  barony,  aud  Rawdon's  too  good  a  soldier  not  to 
have  his  scouts  out  for  three  good  miles  round  it.  Them  trum- 
pets that  we  hear  are  talking  some  such  language  now ;  and  we 
must  ride  pretty  soon,  or  we'll  be  in  a  swamp,  the  waters  rising, 
the  dug-out  gone,  and  a  mighty  thick  harricane  growing  in  the 
west." 

"I  can  not  think  of  leaving  the  body  thus,  Bannister." 

"  And  you  resk  your  own  body  and  soul  — or  your  own  body, 
which  is  pretty  much  the  soul  of  the  '  Oongaree  Blues' — ef  you 
stop  to  take  care  of  him,"  replied  the  woodman. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  1" 

"  Clarence,  trust  to  me.  Take  your  horse — you'll  find  him 
in  that  hollow — and  get  to  the  head  of  the  troop  before  Coffin's 
hoofs  tread  upon  its  tail.  I'll  be  mighty  soon  after  you ;  but 
before  I  start,  I'll  give  'em  a  blast  of  my  horn,  and  a  scare  from 
my  puppy-dog  here" — meaning  his  pistol — "  which  '11  be  pretty 
sure  to  bring  a  dozen  of  'em  on  my  track.  When  they  come 
here,  they'll  find  the  body  of  Edward  Conway,  and  this  lad 
that  I  flattened ;  and  they  can  do  for  'em  all  that's  needful. 
I'm  a  hoping  that  this  here  person,"  pointing  to  the  chief  of  the 
Black  Riders,  "  is  out  of  his  misery  for  ever,  and  won't  trouble 
the  surgeont  with  much  feeling  of  his  hurts.  As  for  the  other 
lad,  I  don't  think  I  could  ha'  hurt  him  much  with  the  butt  only, 
though  I  struck  him  mighty  quick,  and  without  axing  how 
much  or  how  little  he  could  stand.  Trust  to  me,  Clarence,  and 
go  ahead." 

Obviously,  this  was  the  only  course  to  be  pursued  in  order  to 
reconcile  the  duties  and  desires  which  the  partisan  entertained. 
He  took  not  a  single  further  look  at  his  enemy,  whose  grim  and 
ghastly  features,  turned  upward  in  the  moonlight,  presented  an 


CAPRICES  OF   FORTUNE.  225 

aspect  far  more  fearful  than  any  which  the  simple  appearance 
of  death  could  present ;  and,  with  a  few  words  of  parting  direc- 
tion to  the  woodman,  he  hurried  away  to  the  hollow  where  his 
horse  had  heen  concealed.  In  a  few  moments  after,  the  sturdy 
Bannister  rejoiced,  as  his  ear  caught  the  slow  movement  of  his 
departing  hoofs. 

The  bold  fellow  then — before  putting  his  design  in  execution, 
of  alarming  the  British  at  the  mansion  and  bringing  them  down 
upon  the  spot — true  to  the  business  of  the  scout,  stole  forward 
in  the  direction  of  the  dwelling,  in  order  to  ascertain  what  he 
could,  as  to  the  disposition  and  strength  of  the  force  which  had 
come  and  was  still  advancing.  A  perfect  knowledge  of  the 
place,  its  points  of  retreat  and  places  of  shelter,  enabled  him 
to  reach  a  station  where  he  saw  quite  as  much  as  he  desired. 
The  cavalry,  a  small  body  of  men,  were  evidently  drawn  up  as 
a  guard  along  the  avenue,  for  the  reception  of  the  commander- 
in-chief ;  and  while  Bannister  admired  their  array,  and  noted 
the  stealthy  caution  which  marked  their  movements,  he  was 
also  enable  to  count  their  numbers  with  tolerable  certainty. 

"More  than  they  told  me,"  he  muttered  to  himself ;  "but  a 
good  ambushment  will  make  up  the  difference,  by  thinning  them 
a  little." 

Having  satisfied  his  curiosity,  and  perceiving  that  the  main 
body  of  the  British  army  was  at  hand,  he  contented  himself  with 
observing,  with  soldierly  admiration,  the  fine  appearance  of  the 
troops — a  body  consisting  chiefly  of  the  Irish  regiments,  then 
newly  arrived  from  Europe  —  and  the  excellent  order  of  their 
march ;  and  then  stole  away,  as  quietly  as  he  approached,  to 
the  place  where  he  had  left  the  wounded. 

Returning  with  as  stealthy  a  movement  as  at  his  departure, 
he  was  surprised  to  discover  that  the  body  of  the  stranger  whom 
he  had  knocked  down  was  no  longer  where  he  had  left  it.  A 
considerable  curiosity  filled  his  bosom  to  discover  who  this  per- 
son was.  His  conduct  had  been  somewhat  singular ;  and  Ban- 
nister was  almost  sure,  that  when  he  inflicted  the  blow  which 
had  laid  him  prostrate,  the  stranger  had  uttered  his  own  name 
in  falling ;  and  that,  too,  in  tones  which  were  neither  strange 
nor  those  of  an  enemy.  His  first  impression  was  that  this  per- 

-10* 


226  THE  SCOUT. 

son  had  Teigned  unconsciousness,  but  had  taken  advantage  of 
his  momentary  absence  to  steal  off  into  the  contiguous  woods. 
To  seek  him  there  under  present  circumstances,  and  with  so 
little  time  as  was  allowed  him,  would  be  an  idle  attempt ;  and 
the  woodman,  with  some  disappointment,  turned  once  more  to 
the  spot  where  the  outlaw  was  lying. 

To  his  surprise,  he  found  a  second  person  with  him,  whom  a 
nearer  glance  discovered  to  be  the  very  person  whose  absence 
he  had  regretted.  The  stranger  was  lying  upon  the  body  of 
Edward  Morton,  and  seemingly  as  lifeless  as  himself:  but  he 
started  up  when  he  heard  the  footsteps  of  Bannister,  and  made 
a  feeble  attempt  to  rise  from  the  ground,  but  fell  forward  with 
an  expression  of  pain,  and  once  more  lay  quiescent  upon  the 
body  of  the  outlaw. 

The  scout  drew  nigh  and  addressed  the  youth  with  an  accent 
of  excessive  kindness ;  for  the  milk  of  a  gentle  as  well  as  a 
generous  nature,  flowing  in  his  heart  from  the  beginning,  had 
not  been  altogether  turned  by  the  cruel  necessities  of  the  war- 
fare in  which  he  was  engaged.  But,  though  he  spoke  the  kind- 
est words  of  consolation  and  encouragement  known  to  his  vocab- 
ulary, .and  in  the  kindest  tones,  he  received  no  answer.  The 
youth  lay  in  a  condition  of  equal  stillness  with  him  whose  body 
he  seemed  resolved  to  cover  with  his  own. 

Bannister  readily  conceived  that  he  had  swooned.  He  ad- 
vanced accordingly,  stooped  down,  and  turned  the  face  to  the 
moonlight.  It  was  a  fair  face  and  very  pale,  except  where  two 
livid  streaks  were  drawn  by  the  now  clotted  blood,  which  had 
escaped  from  beneath  the  black  fur  cap  which  he  wore.  This, 
upon  examination,  the  scout  found  to  be  cut  by  the  pistol-blow 
which  he  had  given ;  and  it  was  with  a  shivering  sensation  of 
horror,  to  him  very  unusual,  that,  when  he  pressed  lightly  with 
his  finger  upon  the  skull  below,  it  felt  soft  and  pulpy. 

"Lord  forgive  me!"  was  the  involuntary  ejaculation  of  the 
woodman — "Lord  forgive  me,  if  I  have  hit  the  poor  lad  too 
hard  a  blow." 

His  annoyance  increased  as  he  beheld  the  slight  and  slender 
person  of  the  youth. 

"  There  was  no  needcessity  to  use  the  pistol,  poor  fellow.   A  fist 


CAPRICES  OF  FORTUNE.  227 

blow  would  have  been  enough  to  have  kept  him  quiet  "  —  and, 
muttering  thus  at  intervals,  he  proceeded  to  untie  the  strings 
which  secured  the  cap  to  the  head  of  the  stranger.  These  were 
fastened  below  the  chin ;  and,  in  his  anxiety  and  haste,  the 
woodman,  whose  fingers  may  readily  be  supposed  to  have  been 
better  fitted  for  any  less  delicate  business,  contrived  to  run  the 
slip  into  a  knot,  which  his  hunting  knife  was  finally  employed 
to  separate. 

The  cap  was  removed ;  and  in  pressing  the  hair  back  from 
the  wound,  he  was  surprised  at  its  smooth,  silk-like  fineness  and 
unusual  length.  This  occasioned  his  increased  surprise ;  and 
when,  looking  more  closely,  he  saw  in  the  fair  light  of  the  moon, 
the  high  narrow  white  forehead  in  connection  with  the  other  fea- 
tures of  the  face,  a  keen  and  painful  conjecture  passed  through 
his  mind,  and  with  tremulous  haste  and  a  convulsive  feeling  of 
apprehension,  he  tore  open  the  jacket  of  dismal  sable  which  the 
unconscious  person  wore,  and  the  whole  mournful  truth  flashed 
upon  his  soul. 

"^God  ha'  mercy,  it  is  a  woman  ! — it  is  she — it  is  poor  Maiy. 
Mary — Mary  Clarkson  !  Open  your  eyes,  Mary,  and  look  up. 
Don't  be  scared — it's  a  friend "—  it's  me,  Jack  Bannister !  Your 
old  friend,  your  father's  friend.  God  ha'  mercy !  She  don't 
see,  she  don't  hear — -she  can't  speak.  If  I  should  ha'  hit  too 
hard  !  if  I  should  ha'  hit  too  hard." 

The  anxiety  of  the  honest  fellow  as  he  addressed  the  uncon- 
scious victim  of  his  own  unmeditated  blow  would  be  indescriba- 
ble. He  sat  down  on  the  sward  and  took  her  head  into  his  lap, 
and  clasped  her  brows,  and  laid  his  ear  to  her  heart  to  feel  its 
beatings,  and  when,  with  returning  consciousness,  she  murmured 
a  few  incoherent  words,  his  delight  was  that  of  that  one  frantic. 

He  now  laid  her  down  tendency,  and  ran  off  to  a  little  spring 
which  trickled  from  the  foot  of  the  hill,  with  the  position  of 
which  he  was  well  acquainted.  A  gourd  hung  upon  the  slender 
bough  of  a  tree  that  spread  above  the  basin.  This  he  hastily 
scooped  full  of  water,  and  ran  back  to  the  unfortunate  girl.  She 
had  somewhat  recovered  during  his  absence — sufficiently  to 
know  that  some  one  was  busy  in  the  work  of  restoration  and 
kindness, 


228  THE  SCOUT. 

"No,  no,"  she  muttered,  "mind  not  me — go  to  him — him! 
Save  liim  before  they  kill  him." 

"  Him,  indeed  !  No  !  Let  him  wait.  He  can  afford  to  do  it, 
for  I  reckon  it's  all  over  with  him.  But  you,  Mary,  dear  Mary  : 
tell  me,  Mary,  that  you  are  not  much  hurt — tell  me  that  you 
know  me;  it  was  I  who  hurt  you;  I — your  old  friend,  John 
Bannister,  Mary  ;  but  it's  a  God's  truth,  I  didn't  know  you  then. 
I'd  ha'  cut  off  my  right  arm  first,  Mary,  before  it  should  ever 
have  given  pain  to  you." 

"Leave  me,  if  you  have  mercy — I  don't  want  your  help; 
you  can't  help  me — no !  no !  Go  to  him.  He  will  bleed  to 
death  while  you  are  talking." 

"  Don't  tell  me  to  leave  you,  Mary ;  and  don't  trouble  your- 
self about  him.  He'll  have  all  the  help  he  needs — all  he  de- 
sarves ;  but  you !  look  up,  dear  Mary,  and  tell  me  if  you  know 
me.  I  am  still  your  friend,  Mary — your  father's  friend." 

The  mention  of  her  father  seemed  to  increase  her  sufferings. 

"  No  !  no  !  — not  that !"  —  she  muttered  bitterly ;  and  writhing 
about  with  an  effort  that  seemed  to  exhaust  all  her  remaining 
strength,  she  turned  her  face  upon  the  ground,  where  she  lay 
insensible. 

Never  was  mortal  more  miserable  or  more  bewildered  than 
our  worthy  scout.  He  now  suffered  from  all  the  feelings,  the 
doubt  and  indecision,  which  had,  beset  his  commander  but  a  little 
while  before.  To  remain  was  to  risk  being  made  a  prisoner ; 
yet  to  leave  the  poor  victim  of  his  own  random  blow,  in  her 
present  condition,  was  as  painful  to  his  own  sense  of  humanity 
as  it  was  unendurable  by  that  tender  feeling  which,  as  we  have 
already  intimated,  possessed  his  heart  in  an  earlier  day  for  the 
frail  victim  of  another's  perfidy.  This  feeling  her  subsequent 
dishonor  had  not  wholly  obliterated ;  and  he  how  gazed  with  a 
sort  of  stupid  sorrow  upon  the  motionless  form  before  him,  until 
his  big,  slow  gathering  tears  fell  thick  upon  her  neck,  which  his 
arm  partially  sustained ;  while  his  fingers  turned  over  the  long 
silken  hair,  portions  of  which  were  matted  with  her  blood,  in 
a  manner  which  betrayed  something  of  a  mental  self-abandon- 
ment— a  total  forgetfulness  of  duty  and  prudence — on  the  part 
of  one  of  the  hardiest  scouts  in  the  whole  Congaree  country. 


CAPEICES  OF  FORTUNE.  229 

How  long  lie  might  have  lingered  in  this  purposeless  manner, 
had  not  an  interruption,  from  without,  awakened  him  to  a  more 
resolute,  if  a  less  humane  course,  may  not  be  conjectured.  In 
that  moment  the  resources  of  the  strong  man  were  sensibly  di- 
minished. The  hopes  and  loves  of  his  early  youth  were  busy  at 
his  heart.  Memory  was  going  over  her  tears  and  treasures,  and 
wounds  which  had  been  scarred  by  time  and  trial  were  all  sud- 
denly reopened. 

In  this  musing  vein  he  half  forgot  the  near  neighborhood  of 
his  enemies,  and  the  dangers  which  awaited  him  in  the  event  of 
captivity.  These  were  dangers,  be  it  remembered,  of  no  com- 
mon kind.  It  was  not  then  the  mere  prospect  of  restraint  which 
threatened  the  rebel  if  taken  prisoner.  The  sanguinary  rage  of 
party  had  to  be  pacified  with  blood ;  and  it  is  strongly  probable 
that  the  merciless  executions  of  which  the  British  commanders 
were  so  frequently  guilty  in  the  south,  were  sometimes  prompted 
by  a  desire  to  conciliate  the  loyalists,  of  the  same  region,  who 
had  personal  enmities  to  gratify,  and  personal  revenges  to  wreak, 
which  could  be  satisfied  in  scarcely  any  other  way. 

Of  these  dangers  the  sturdy  woodman  was  made  most  unex- 
pectedly conscious  by  hearing  the  tones  and  language  of  military 
command  immediately  behind  him.  A  guard  was  evidently  ap- 
proaching, sentinels  were  about  to  be  placed,  and  the  sounds 
which  startled  him  on  one  side  were  echoed  and  strangely  an- 
swered by  a  sudden  clamor  of  a  most  unmilitary  character 
which  rose,  at  nearly  the  same  instant,  from  the  swamps  and 
flats  which  lay  along  the  river  a  few  hundred  yards  below. 

Mary  Clarkson  could  have  explained  the  mystery  of  the  lat- 
ter noises,  were  she  conscious  enough  to  hear ;  but  such  was  not 
the  case.  Her  consciousness  was  momentary  ;  and  when  obvi- 
ous, betrayed  itself  in  expressions  which  now  denoted  a  wander- 
ing intellect. 

A  stern  agony  filled  the  heart  of  the  scout  as  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  lifted  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  and  bore  her  toward  the 
tomb,  before  the  entrance  of  which  he  laid  her  gently  down,  in 
a  spot  which  he  knew  would  make  her  conspicuous  to  the  eyes 
of  the  first  person  approaching.  He  had  barely  disengaged  her 
from  his  arms,  and  was  still  bending  over  her  with  a  last  look 
-^  » 


230  THE  SCOUT. 

the  expression  of  which,  though  unseen  by  any,  spoke  more 
effectually  the  anguish  which  he  felt,  than  could  ever  have  been 
conveyed  by  the  rude  and  simple  language  of  his  lips,  when  he 
felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder — a  quick,  firm  grasp — followed 
by  the  sounds  of  a  voice,  which  it  soon  appeared  that  he  knew. 

"  Oh  !  ho !  Caught  at  last,  Supple  Jack ;  Supple,  the  fa- 
mous !  Your  limbs  will  scarcely  help  you  now.  You  are  my 
prisoner." 

"Not  so  fast,  "Watson  Gray — I  know  you  !"  replied  the  scout, 
as  he  started  to  his  feet  and  made  an  effort  to  turn ;  but  his  en- 
emy had  grappled  him  from  behind,  had  pinioned  his  arms  by  a 
grasp  from  limbs  as  full  of  muscle  as  his  own,  and  was,  in  fact, 
fairly  mounted  upon  his  back. 

"  An&feel  me  too,  Jack  Bannister,  I  think.  There's  no  get- 
ting loose,  my  boy,  and  your  only  way  is  to  keep  quiet.  There 
are  twenty  Hessians  at  my  back  to  help  me,  and  as  many  Irish." 

"  More  than  enough,  Watson  Gray,  for  a  poor  Congaree  boat- 
man. But  you're  rether  vent'rous,  I'm  thinking,  to  begin  the 
attack.  You  ought  to  ha'  waited  for  a  little  more  help,  Watson 
Gray.  You're  rather  a  small  build  of  a  man,  if  my  memory 
sarves  me  rightly — you  ha'n't  half  of  my  heft,  and  can't  surely 
think  to  manage  me." 

"  I  do,  indeed  !"  was  the  answer.  "  If  I'm  light,  you'll  find 
me  strong — strong  enough  to  keep  your  arms  fast  till  my  wild 
Irish  come  up,  and  lay  you  backward," 

"Well,  that  may  be,  Watson.  But  my  arms  ain't  my  legs, 
my  lad.  Keep  them,  if  you  can." 

Thus  speaking,  greatly  to  the  surprise  of  the  assailant,  he 
grasped  the  enclasping  arms  of  the  latter  with  his  muscular  fin- 
gers, held  them  with  a  hold  as  unyielding  as  their  own,  and 
rising  erect,  set  off,  at  a  smart  canter  down  the  hill  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  river.  This  proceeding  was  one  which  had  formed 
no  part  of  Watson  Gray's  calculations;  and  he  became  sud- 
denly and  awkwardly  aware  that  there  was  an  unpleasant  change 
in  the  relations  of  the  parties. 

"  The  boot's  on  t'other  leg,  I'm  thinking,  Watson  Gray," 
chuckled  our  scout  of  Congaree.  To  this  offensive  suggestion 
the  other  had  no  answer,  in  words ;  but  he  employed  all  his 


CAPRICES  OP  FORTUNE.  231 

breath  and  effort  with  the  view  to  extricating-  himself  from  the 
biped  whose  shoulders  he  had  so  indiscreetly  mounted.  But  the 
performance  and  the  desire,  are  notoriously  very  different  things. 
In  spite  of  all  his  struggles,  Jack  Bannister  kept  on  his  way 
down  hill,  and  Watson  Gray,  perforce,  kept  in  his  uneasy  place 
of  elevation.  He  had  not  calculated  all  the  resources  of  his 
great  antagonist,  and  now  cursed  himself  for  his  overweening 
confidence  in  his  own. 

"  It's  but  nateral  that  you  should  kick  and  worry,  at  riding 
a  nag  that  you  ha'n't  bitted,  Watson  Gray,  but  it's  of  no  use ; 
you're  fairly  mounted,  and  there's  no  getting  off  in  a  hurry,"  was 
the  consoling  language  of  the  scout  £s  he  ran  toward  the  wood 
with  his  captive.  "  I  see  that  you  never  hearn  of  the  danger 
of  shaking  hands  with  a  black  bear.  The  danger  is  that  you 
can't  let  go  when  you  want  to.  A  black  bear  is  so  civil  an 
animal,  that  he  never  likes  to  give  up  a  good  acquaintance,  and 
he'll  hold  on,  paw  for  paw  with  you,  and  rubbing  noses  when 
he  can,  though  it's  the  roughest  tree  in  the  swamp  that  stands 
up  between  him  and  his  friend.  Your  arms  and  shoulders,  I 
reckon,  are  jist  as  good  and  strong  as  mine.  But  your  body 
ain't  got  the  weight,  and  I  could  carry  you  all  day,  on  a  pinch, 
and  never  feel  the  worse  for  it.  You  see  how  easy  we  go  to- 
gether!" 

"D — n  you,  for  a  cunning  devil,"  cried  the  embarrassed 
Gray,  kicking  and  floundering  curiously,  but  vainly  striving  to 
get  loose. 

"  Don't  you  curse,  Watson  Gray  ; — it  sort  o'  makes  you  feel 
heavier  on  my  quarters." 

"  Let  me  down,  Bannister,  and  you  may  go  free,  and  to  the 
devil  where  you  came  from." 

"  Well,  you're  too  good.  You'll  let  me  go  free  ? — I'm  think- 
ing that  it's  you  that's  my  prisoner,  my  boy.  I'll  parole  you  as 
soon  as  I  reach  my  critter." 

"  I'll  shout  to  the  Hessians  to  shoot  you  as  you  run,"  vocif- 
erated the  other. 

"  Will  you,  then.  You  don't  consider  that  your  back  will 
first  feel  the  bullets.  You're  a  cunning  man,  Watson  Gray. 
I've  always  said  you  were  about  the  best  scout  I  know'd  in  the 


232  THE   SCOUT. 

whole  Congaree  country,  and  it's  a  long  time  since  we've  been 
dodging  after  one  another.  I  was  a  little  jub'ous,  I  confess,  that 
you  were  a  better  man  than  myself.  I  was  :  but  you  made  a 
poor  fist  of  this  business — a  poor  pair  of  fists,  I  may  say,"  con- 
cluded the  woodman  with  a  chuckle. 

"  So  I  did — a  d — d  poor  business  of  it !"  groaned  the  other. 
"  I  should  have  put  my  knife  into  your  ribs,  or  had  the  scouts 
round  you  first." 

"  The  knife's  a  bad  business,  Watson,"  was  the  reply  of  the 
other ;  —  "a  good  scout,  that's  not  onnatural,  never  uses  it  when 
less  hurtful  things  will  answer.  But  it's  true  you  should  ha' 
put  your  Hessians  between  me  and  the  woods  before  you  cried 
out  '  you're  my  prisoner  !'  If  ever  a  man  jumps  into  detarmina- 
tion  at  all,  it's  jist  when  he  hears  some  such  ugly  words,  on  a 
sudden,  in  his  ears ;  and  when  I  felt  you,  riding  so  snugly  on 
my  back,  I  know'd  I  had  you,  and  could  ha'  sworn  it." 

A  desperate  effort  to  effect  his  release,  which  Watson  Gray 
made  at  this  time,  put  a  stop  to  the  complacent  speech  of  the 
other,  and  made  him  less  indulgent. 

"  I'll  cure  your  kicking,  my  lad,"  said  he,  as,  backing  himself 
against  a  pine-tree,  he  subjected  his  involuntary  burden  to  a 
succession  of  the  hardest  thumps  which  he  could  inflict  upon 
him,  by  driving  his  body  with  all  its  force  against  the  incorrigi- 
ble and  knotty  giant  of  the  forests.  The  gasping  of  the  cap- 
tive, which  ensued,  sufficiently  attested  the  success  of  this 
measure ;  and  an  attempt  which  Gray  made,  a  moment  or  two 
after,  to  get  the  ear  of  Supple  Jack  within  his  teeth — which 
was  answered  by  a  butt  that  almost  ruined  his  whole  jaw — ter- 
minated the  fruitless  endeavors  of  the  former  to  free  himself 
from  his  awkward  predicament. 

Meanwhile,  the  stir  and  confusion  were  increasing  behind  the 
fugitives,  and  it  was  a  wonder  to  both  that  they  had  not  been 
pursued.  The  sounds,  imperfectly  heard  by  the  woodman, 
seemed  to  be  those  of  actual  conflict ;  but  he  felt  himself  secure, 
and  his  thoughts  reverted,  over  all,  to  the  poor  Mary  Clarkson 
— the  victim  of  the  outlaw  with  whom  she  had  been  left,  and, 
perhaps,  his  own  victim.  The  poor  fellow  regarded  himself  with 
horror  when  he  thought  of  the  cruel  blow  his  hand  had  inflicted. 


CAPRICES   OF   FORTUNE.  233 

But  lie  had  no  time  for  these  reflections ;  and  the  necessity 
of  joining  his  commander,  nerved  him  to  new  vigor  in  his  prog- 
ress. He  had  now  reached  the  place  where,  his  horse  was  con- 
cealed. His  first  movement  was  to  pitch  his  captive  over  his 
head  ;  which  he  did  very  unexpectedly  to  the  latter.  In  the 
next  moment,  his  knee  was  upon  his  breast,  and  with  pistol 
presented  to  his  mouth,  he  made  Watson  Gray  surrender  his 
weapons.  These  consisted  only  of  two  hunting  knives,  and  an 
ordinary  pocket  pistol.  He  then  rifled  his  pockets  of  all  which 
they  contained,  kept  his  papers,  but  generously  restored  his  money. 

"  Now,  Watson  Gray,  you're  a  Congaree  man,  like  myself, 
and  ef  I've  thumped  you  a  little  hard  as  we  run,  put  it  down 
to  the  needcessity  of  the  case  and  not  because  I  wanted  to  hurt 
you.  I'll  let  you  off  now,  on  your  parole,  that  you  may  go 
back  and  help  Ned  Conway.  You've  been  his  helper  and  ad- 
viser a  mighty  long  time,  and  you've  done  for  him  a  precious 
deal  of  ugly  business.  He'll  need  more  help  now,  I'm  thinking, 
than  you  can  give  him.  There's  a  poor  boy  there — too — a 
young  slender  chap,  that  I  hit  with  a'most  too  heavy  a  hand, 
I'm  afeard,  and  if  you  can  do  anything  for  her " 

"  Her!"  said  the  other. 

"  Oh,  yes — the  truth-will  out — she's  a  gal  though  in  no  gal's 
clothes.  Perhaps  you  know  her.  You  ought  to — you  know 
enough  of  Ned  Conway 's  wickedness  to  know  that.  Take  care 
of  that  gal,  Watson  Gray,  and  if  physic  can  do  her  good,  see 
that  she  gets  it.  I  ax  it  of  you  as  a  favor.  You're  a  stout 
fellow,  Watson,  and  I've  long  tried  to  have  a  turn  with  you. 
I'm  thinking  you're  a  better  scout  than  I  am ;  but  there's  no 
discredit  to  you  to  say  that  you  want  my  heft  and  timbers.  In 
a  close  tug  I'm  your  master ;  but  I'm  jub'ous  you'd  work  through 
a  swamp  better  than  me.  See  to  that  gal,  Watson,  for  the  sake 
of  that  Congaree  country.  She's  one  of  our  own  children,  I 
may  say,  seeing  we're  both  from  the  river; — and  if  there's  any 
cost  that  you're  at,  In  helping  her,'  either  for  food  or  physic,  let 
me  know  of  it,  and  you  shall  have  it  paid  back  to  you,  ef  I  dig 
the  gold  out  of  some  inemy's  heart.  Good  by,  now,  Watson, 
and  remember  you  must  never  take  a  bear  by  the  paws  till 
you've  first  made  tarms  with  him  about  letting  go." 


234  THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

PROGRESS    AND    SUSPENSE. 

"WAS  ever  poor  devil  caught  so  completely  in  his  own  trap 
before!  "was  the  querulous  exclamation  of  Watson  Gray,  as, 
with  a  painful  effort,  he  rose  from  the  ground  where  his  adver- 
sary had  so  ungently  stretched  him  out.  "  Egad,  I'm  sore  all 
over;  though  I  think  there's  no  bone  broken  !"  He  rubbed  his 
arms  and  thighs  while  he  -spoke,  with  an  anxious  earnestness 
which  showed  that  he  spoke  in  all  sincerity,  though  still  with 
some  doubt  whether  his  limbs  preserved  their  integrity. 

"  Confound  the  scamp  !  I  thought  I  had  him  sure.  His  arms 
fastened,  his  back  turned! — who'd  have  thought  of  such  a  can- 
ter down  hill  with  a  strong  man  over  his  shoulders !  Well,  he 
certainly  deserves  the  name  of  Supple  Jack!  He's  earned  it 
fairly  by  this  bout,  if  he  never  did  before.  If  ever  fellow  was 
strong  and  supple  over  all  the  men  I  ever  knew,  he's  the  man. 
But  for  those  sleepy  Hessians,  I'd  have  had  him  ;  and  I  wonder 
what  can  keep  them  now.  The  dull,  drowsy,  beef-eyed  Dutch- 
men—  what  the  d — 1  are  they  after  ?  What  stir's  that  ?" 

A  buzz  of  many  voices  in  earnest  controversy,  in  the  direction 
of  the  vault,  arrested  the  speaker  in  his  soliloquy,  and  stimulated 
his  apprehensions. 

"  By  Jupiter !  they're  fighting  among  themselves  !  What 
an  uproar !  They're  are  loggerheads,  surely — the  Hessian 
boobies  !"• 

The"  anxiety  of  the  scout  made  him  half  forgetful  of  his 
bruises  as  he  turned  toward  the  spot  from  whence  the  clamor 
rose.  There  seemed  sufficient  cause  to  justify  the  apprehensions 
which  he  had  expressed.  The  uproar  which  first  startled  him 
was  followed  by  oaths,  execrations,  and  finally  the  clash  of  arms. 
He  hurried  forward  to  the  scene  of  the  uproar,  and  arrived  not 
*a  moment  too  soon  to  prevent  bloodshed.  It  will  be  necessary 


PROGRESS   AND   SUSPENSE.  235 

that  we  should  retrace  our  steps  for  a  while  in  order  to  ascertain 
the  causes  of  the  present  commotion. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Mary  Clarkson  left  the  bivouac  of 
the  Black  Riders  at  the  very  time  when,  going  through  the 
bloody  ceremonial  of  pledging  themselves  to  one  another  for  the 
performance  of  a  new  crime,  they  led  her  to  suppose  that  they 
would  very  shortly  follow  upon  her  footsteps.  This,  to  a  certain 
extent,  was,  indeed,  the  fact.  They  followed  her,  but  not  so 
soon  as  she  expected ;  and  she  reached  the  miserable  man  for 
whom  she  had  sacrificed  the  life  of  woman's  life,  in  full  time  to 
have  forewarned  him  of  their  approach  and  purpose,  had  this, 
under  the  circumstances,  been  either  necessary  or  possible.  We 
have  already  seen  what  those  circumstances  were ;  and  the  cruel 
insults  which  followed  her  unselfish  devotion  to  a  creature  so 
little  deserving  the  care  of  any  heart.  The  chief  of  the  outlaws 
had  already  fallen  beneath  the  arm  of  his  kinsman. 

The  Black  Riders  had  still  some  arrangements  to  make — 
some  stimulating  liquors  to  quaff,  and  purposes  to  fulfil  scarcely 
less  stimulating — before  they  started  for  the  work  of  treachery 
and  murder.  One  of  these  arrangements  was  the  elevation  of 
Stockton  to  the  chief  command,  as  if  Morton  were  already  dead. 
Ensign  Darcy,  by  a  natural  transition,  and  as  a  becoming  reward 
for  his  good  service,  was  promoted  at  the  same  time  to  the  sta- 
tion which  the  other  had  so  lately  filled. 

Morton  had  his  friends  among  the  banditti,  who  simply  sub- 
mitted to  proceedings  which  they  could  not  baffle,  and  openly 
dared  not  resist.  They,  however,  held  themselves  in  reserve, 
with  a  mental  determination  to  defeat,  if  possible,  the  dark  pur- 
poses of  their  companions  before  they  could  possibly  carry  them 
out  to  completion.  But  this  determination  was  ineffective  for 
the  time,  simply  because  it  was  individual  in  each  man's  bosom. 
They  had  had  no  opportunity  allowed  them  for  deliberation, 
and,  being  half  suspected  of  lukewarmness,  they  were  not  suf- 
fered to  get  together  unwatched  and  unobserved  by  the  domi- 
nant faction. 

Elated  with  his  success,  the  arrogant  Stockton  fancied  that 
the  path  of  the  future  was  fairly  open  before  his  steps,  unembar- 
rassed by  all  obstructions,  and  the  smiles  of  good  fortune  beck- 


236  THE  SCOUT. 

oning  him  to  the  conquest.  There  was  but  one  task  before  him 
necessary  to  render  all  things  easy,  and  that  a  malignant  senti- 
ment of  hate  goaded  him  on  to  perform.  The  murder  of  Edward 
Morton — his  personal  enemy — the  man  who  knew  his  secret 
baseness,  and  who  scorned  him  in  consequence — was  yet  to  be 
executed ;  and  this — when  he  thought  of  the  past,  its  bitterness 
and  contumely — of  the  future,  its  doubts  and  dangers — became 
a  task  of  grateful  personal  performance.  To  this  task,  when  all 
the  ceremonials  were  over,  of  his  own  and  confederate's  eleva- 
tion, he  accordingly  hurried. 

His  men  were  soon  put  in  readiness,  and  Darcy,  who  had 
traversed  the  ground  more  than  once  before,  took  charge  of  the 
advance.  Their  plans  were,  simple,  but  sufficient,  had  the  cir- 
cumstances continued  throughout  as  they  were  at  the  beginning. 
They  had  meditated  to  advance  upon,  and  to  surround  the  man- 
sion, in  which  they  supposed  their  captain  to  be ;  then,  raising 
the  cry  of  "  Suinter,"  create  an  alarm,  in  the  confusion  of  which 
Morton  was  to  be  put  to  death. 

It  need  not  be  said  that  the  unexpected  approach  of  a  British 
army,  under  a  forced  march,  and  without  any  of  the  usual  bruit 
attending  on  the  progress  of  a  large  body  of  men,  utterly  baffled 
all  their  calculations ;  and  when,  following  the  path  toward  the 
tomb,  which  Morton  had  originally  taken,  Lieutenant  Darcy 
arrived  at  the  spot,  he  found  it  almost  in  complete  possession  of 
soldiery,  consisting  of  the  very  Hessians  —  some  twenty  in  num- 
ber—  on  the  assistance  of  whom  Watson  Gray  had  so  confidently 
calculated  when  he  made  the  rash  attempt  on  the  person  of 
Jack  Bannister. 

The  Hessian  troops  had  never  before  been  seen  by  the  Black 
Riders,  and  Darcy  immediately  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 
these  were  partisan  troops  of  Lee's  legion,  which  he  knew  had, 
a  little  time  before,  been  seen  in  the '  neighborhood ;  and  the 
conjecture  was  a  natural  one,  not  only  that  they  might  be  there 
still,  but  that  Morton  might  already  have  become  their  captive. 
The  incautious  movement  of  these  soldiers  suggested  to  Darcy, 
who  was  not  without  his  ambition,  the  project  of  capturing  the 
whole  of  them.  They  were  evidently  as  careless  of  danger,  as 
if  they  had  never  known  what  apprehension  was ;  and  finding 


PROGRESS   AND   SUSPENSE.  237 

them  squatting  around  some  object  near  the  tomb,  busy  in  low 
discussion,  the  next  most  natural  conjecture,  to  one  of  his  ma- 
rauding habits,'  was,  that  they  had  already  rifled  the  mansion, 
and  were  now  sharing  its  plunder. 

The  cupidity  of  the  habitual  robber  rendered  his  judgment 
easy  of  access  to  any  suggestion  which,  favored  the  mercenary 
passions  of  his  heart ;  and,  taking  that  for  granted  which  was 
merely  possible,  and  waiting  for  no  further  knowledge  of  the 
truth,  Darcy  stole  back  to  Stockton,  who  was  following  with 
the  main  body,  and  readily  filled  his  mind  with  the  ideas  which 
predominated  in  his  own.  But  few  questions  were  asked  by  the 
new  captain.  The  information  of  Darcy  seemed  to  cover  all  the 
ground  ;  and  they  both  were  instantly  ripe  for  action. 

"  There  are  not  twenty — squat  upon  the  turf — some  of  their 
arms  lie  beside  them,  and  some  upon  the  tomb ;  and  the  plunder, 
if  one  may  judge  from  the  interest  they  take  in  it,  must  be  rather 
more  than  has  blessed  their  eyes  for  many  a  day.  We  can  sur- 
round them  in  a  jiffy,  without  striking  a  blow." 

"But  Morton! — do  you  see  nothing  of  him?"  demanded 
Stockton  anxiously. 

"  No  !  But  if  these  fellows  found  him  at  the  house,  they've 
saved  us  some  trouble.  They've  done  for  him  already." 

"Enough  !  —  set  on,  and  lead  the  way.  Manage  it,  Darcy,  to 
suit  yourself ;  you  alone  know  the  path." 

"  Hark !  a  trumpet !  I  have  heard  that  trumpet  once  before. 
It  must  be  at  the  mansion." 

"  The  more  need  for  hurry.  These  fellows  are  a  squad  of 
Lee's  or  Sumter's,  who  have  rifled  the  house  before  the  main 
body  came  up.  We  must  be  in  time  to  relieve  them  of  their 
burden  before  they  get  help  from  the  strongest.  After  that, 
we  can  push  up  for  the  house,  and  see  what  is  to  be  done  with 
the  rest." 

"  Keep  all  still,  then,"  said  Darcy.  "  I'll  undertake  to  sur- 
round these  rascals,  and  relieve  them  of  their  plunder,  without 
emptying  a  pistol.  Let  your  horses  be  fastened  here,  and  we'll 
go  on  foot  the  rest  of  the  journey.  Dismount — dismount;  we 
have  but  a  few  hundred  yards  to  go." 

Such  were  the  arrangements  of  the  Black  Eiders ;  and  yield- 


238  THE   SCOUT. 

ing  the  management  of  the  affair  entirely  to  Darcy,  Stockton 
followed  with  his  band  in  silence.  With  the  stealthy  progress 
of -the  Indian,  each  individual  passed  to  his  appointed  station, 
until  the  tomb,  and  all  about  it,  was  completely  environed  with 
a,  cordon  militairc,  from  which  nothing  could  escape.  A  signal 
whistle  warned  them  to  be  in  readiness,  and  a  second  com- 
manded the  movement. 

The  operation  was  fully  successful.  The  Hessians  were  sur- 
rounded before  sword  could  be  drawn  or  yager  lifted.  Nothing 
could  well  exceed  the  astonishment  of  the  mutual  parties,  the 
captors  equally  with  the  captive.  The  Hessians,  with  an  army 
of  two  thousand  men  or  more  at  hand,  were  confounded  to  find 
themselves,  on  a  sudden,  in  custody  of  a  force  not  twice  their  own 
number ;  while  the  amazement  of  the  Black  Riders  was  scarcely 
less,  when  they  heard  the  clamors  of  the  people  they  had  made 
captive,  in  a  language  which  they  could  not  comprehend,  and 
the  harsh  sounds  of  which  seemed  to  them  so  shocking  and  un- 
natural. Their  disappointment  was  something  increased,  also,  to 
discover,  that  instead  of  the  treasure  of  the  house  of  Middle- 
ton — the  family  plate  and  ladies' jewels — the  supposed  plunder 
around  which  the  Hessians  had  been  squatting  was  neither  more 
nor  less  than  the  body-,  seemingly  dead,  of  the  tender  boy  who 
usually  attended  upon  their  captain. 

It  was  at  this  moment  of  confusion  on  both  hands,  and  before 
anything  could  be  understood  or  anything  explained,  that  Wat- 
son Gray  made  his  appearance,  to  the  satisfaction  of  one  at  least 
of  the  parties. 

"  How  now,  Darcy  1  what's  the  matter  here  1  What  are  you 
doing  with  these  men  1  Let  them  go." 

"  Let  them  go,  ^ndeed !  when  we've  just  taken  them.  Let 
them  rather  go  to  the  gallows." 

"  Gallows  !  why,  who  do  you  take  these  fellows  for  ?" 

"Lee's  legion — or  a  part  of  it." 

"  Indeed  ?  Had  your  courage  ever  earned  you  nigh  enough 
to  Lee's  legion,  you'd  have  found  out  your  mistake.  Why, 
man,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  These  are  his  majesty's 
new  levies,  hired  or  bought  from  the  prince  of  Hesse  Cas- 
sel,  at  two  and  sixpence  a-head,  and  d — d  extravagant  pay, 


PROGRESS   AND   SUSPENSE.  239 

too,  for  such  heads  as  they've  got.  Let  them  go — they're 
Hessians !" 

A  gibberish,  utterly  beyond  translation  by  any  present,  arose 
in  echo  from  the  captured  foreigners,  in  full  confirmation  of  this 
assurance.  By  this  time  Stockton  made  his  appearance,  and 
the  face  of  Watson  Gray  might  have  been  seen  to  indicate  some 
surprise  when  he  saw  him.  Gray  knew  the  relation  in  which 
Stockton  stood  to  his  captain,  and  was  instantly  assured  that  the 
latter  had  never  deputed  to  him  the  chief  command  in  his  ab- 
sence. The  circumstance  looked  suspicious ;  but  Gray  was  too 
old  a  scout  to  suffer  his  suspicions  to  be  seen,  until  he  knew  in 
what  condition  the  game  stood. 

"Ah,  Stockton!"  he  said,  indifferently — "is  that  you?  but 
where 's  Ben  Williams  1  is  he  not  in  command  ?" 

"No,  I  am,"  said  Stockton — "I  am  for  the  present.  We 
came  to  look  after  the  captain." 

"  The  captain  ? — why,  where  did  he  leave  you  V 

"  In  the  swamp  flats,  some  two  miles  below." 

"  And  what  brings  you  to  look  after  him  1     Did  he  order  it  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Darcy,  taking  up  the  tale  with  an  adroitness  of 
which  he  knew  that  Stockton  was  no  master — "no;  but  we 
heard  trumpets,  and  as  he  stayed  rather  long,  we  were  appre- 
hensive about  him.  When  we  came,  and  saw  these  fellows 
here,  with  strange  uniforms,  we  took  'em  for  Lee's  legion,  as  we 
heard  that  Lee  was  dodging  about  this  neighborhood." 

"  And  you  really  have  never  seen  Lee's  uniforms,  ensign  ?" 

"  No,  never :  we've  been  operating  above,  you  know;  and — " 

"  You  have  not  found  the  captain,  then  ?" 

"Not  yet,  and  what  to  do " 

"  I'll  tell  you  :  look  there  and  you'll  find  him.  The  sooner 
we  attend  to  him  the  better." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  body  of  Edward  Morton  as  he  spoke, 
stooped  down  with  composure,  but  interest,  and  proceeded  to 
examine  it  for  the  signs  of  life  which  it  contained.  The  wily 
Darcy  followed  his  example,  and  his  conduct,  in  turn,  suggested 
to  Stockton  that  which  it  would  be  proper  for  him  to  pursue. 
Much  time  was  not  given  to  the  examination,  and  still  less 
in  vain  regrets  and  lamentations.  The  selfishness  of  man's 


240  THE  SCOUT. 

nature  soars  triumphant  above  all  other  considerations,  in  a  time 
of  war;  and  life  becomes  as  small  a  subject  of  consideration  as 
any  one  of  its  own  circumstances. 

"  Some  ugly  hurts  here,  I  reckon,"  said  Darcy ;  "  we  must 
get  him  to  the  house  and  to  the  hands  of  the  surgeon,  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"  Does  he  live  ?"  asked  Stockton  in  a  whisper,  over  Darcy's 
shoulder. 

"  Ay,  he  lives !"  was  the  answer  made  by  Gray,  in  tones 
which  were  somewhat  sharpened  by  asperity ;  "  there's  life 
enough  to  go  upon,  and,  with  good  care,  he'll  be  able  shortly  to 
be  in  the  saddle.  If  we  can  stop  the  blood,  there's  nothing  to 
be  afraid  of,  I'm  thinking." 

This  man  boldly  took  the  lead,  as  a  man  having  his  wits 
about  him  will  be  always  apt  to  do,  in  seasons  of  sudden  peril 
and  great  surprise.  Even  Stockton  tacitly  submitted  to  his 
guidance. 

"  Give  way  there,  my  good  fellows,  and  let's  see  what  we're 
about.  Here,  one  of  you  take  that  door,  there'- — the  door  of 
the  vault — from  its  hinges,-  and  we'll  carry  him  to  the  house  on 
that." 

Watson  Gray  muttered  through  his  closed  teeth  at  the  con- 
clusion ;  and  his  hands  were  unconsciously  pressed  upon  his  hips 
as  he  spoke  :  "  He'll  have  an  easier  ride  than  I  had  of  it.  My 
bones  will  talk  of  Jack  Bannister  for  a  month." 

The  door  of  the  vault  was  soon  brought  forward,  and  the 
Black  Eiders,  with  careful  hands,  raised  their  captain  upon  it. 
Darcy  and  Stockton  both  busied  themselves  in  this  service. 
But,  though  performed  with  great  caution,  the  motion  recalled 
the  wounded  man  to  consciousness  and  pain,  and  two  or  three 
half-stifled  moans  escaped  from  his  lips.  He  muttered  a  few 
words,  also,  which  showed  that  he  still  fancied  himself  engaged 
in  all  the  struggles  of  a  protracted  and  doubtful  strife. 

When  Gray  had  seen  him  fairly  placed  upon  the  frame,  which 
was  amply  large,  he  thought  of  the  poor  girl  whom  the  earnest 
solicitations  of  Supple  Jack  had  commended  to  his  care ;  and, 
with  a  degree  of  interest  and  tenderness  which  could  scarcely 
have  been  expected  from  one  habitually  so  rough,  he  himself 


PROGRESS   AND   SUSPENSE.  241 

assisted  to  place  the  slight  form  of  the  victim  beside  the  body 
of  her  betrayer. 

By  this  time,  however,  the  friendly  stupor  which  had  first 
come  to  her  relief,  no  longer  possessed  her  faculties.  She  had 
recovered  her  consciousness,  but  under  the  burning  pressure  of 
fever,  which  filled  her  mind  with  all  the  fancies  of  delirium. 
She  raved  of  a  thousand  things,  incoherently,  which  perhaps  none 
present  could  in  any  way  comprehend,  but  the  one  individual 
who  was  engaged  in  conducting  the  operations.  He,  too,  harsh 
as  was  his  nature,  callous  and  insensible — the  creature  of  the 
cruel  man  whose  profligate  passions  he  served,  and  who  had 
reduced  her  to  the  thing  she  was, — he,  too,  did  not  appear 
entirely  unaffected  by  the  wild  agony  which  her  ravings  denoted 
and  expressed.  He  walked  beside  her,  as  a  dozen  of  the  sol- 
diers carried  the  litter  toward  the  house ;  and  few  were  the 
words,  and  those  only  such  as  seemed  to  be  necessary,  which 
he  uttered  during  the  mournful  procession. 

"  You  had  better  set  your  men  in  handsome  order,  Stockton. 
You  will  meet  Lord  Rawdon  at  the  house,  with  all  his  suite,  and 
a  fine  show  of  military.  He  likes  to  see  handsome  dressing  and 
a  good  front,  and  he'll-  look  to  you  for  it  while  the  captain's 
sick." 

"  A  cursed  chance,  this,"  muttered  Stockton,  as  he  drew  aside 
with  Darcy  to  put  in  execution  the  suggestions  of  the  scout. 
"  Who'd  have  thought  it  ?  Rawdon  here,  and  we  know  not  a 
word  about  it !" 

"  It's  devilish  fortunate  we  did  not  rush  on  in  the  dark.  That 
peep  of  mine  was  well  thought  on.  But  it  makes  very  little 
difference,  except  the  loss  of  the  plunder.  Morton's  pretty  well 
done  for.  No  less  than  five  wounds  upon  him — two  in  the 
jaw.  and  three  in  the  body." 

"  But  how  came  it  ?  who  could  have  done  it  ?"  said  Stockton. 

"  That  matters  less  than  all.  Some  friend,  I  take  it,  who 
knew  what  we  wished  most,  and  saved  us  the  trouble  of  the 
performance." 

"  But  how  strange  !  and  how  stranger  than  all  that  we  should 
have  been  deceived  in  that  boy — that  Henry !" 

"Ay! — but  let  us  hurry  on,  and  show  alacrity  as  well  as 

11 


242  THE   SCOUT. 

order.     Of  course  we'll  say  nothing  about  the  captaincy.    You're 

still  lieutenant  only,  and  if  Morton  dies " 

"  He  must  die  !"  said  the  other. 

"  Ay,  he  must.  Rawdon  will  leave  him  a  surgeon,  and  we 
will  find  a  guard  j  and  if  he  survives  the  one,  there's  but 
little  chance  of  his  getting  off  from  the  other.  Eh !  what 
think  you  ?" 

"  It  will  do,"  was  the  significant  answer  of  Stockton.  They 
understood  each  other  thoroughly,  before  they  put  their  men  in 
order.  The  thoughts  of  Watson  Gray  were  not  less  busy,  as 
he  pursued  his  way  alone  with  the  wounded  persons ;  nor  were 
they  more  favorable  to  the  conspirators,  than  was  the  determina- 
tion of  those  friendly  to  their  captain.  He  knew,  better  than 
any  other  man,  the  true  history  of  the  latter,  and  the  sort  of  re- 
lation in  which  he  stood  to  his  troop.  He  was  not  ignorant, 
also,  of  the  scorn  which  Morton  felt  for  Stockton,  and  the  hate, 
more  deadly  because  secret,  with  which  the  other  requited  it. 
He  could  readily  conceive,  at  the  same  time,  that  Stockton's  in- 
terest would  lie  in  the  death  of  his  captain ;  and,  putting  all 
these  things  together  in  his  mind,  he  determined  to  keep  his  eyes 
open,  and  watchful  of  every  movement  of  the  parties. 

"  Rawdon  will  take  them  with  him  to  Ninety-Six,"  he  mut- 
tered, as  he  came  to  this  conclusion. 

"  I  will  persuade  him  to  do  so,  at  least,  and  the  chances  are 
fair  that  they  will  get  themselves  knocked  on  the  head  before 
the  siege  is  over.  But,  whether  they  do  or  not,  we  shall  gain 
time ;  and  if  Morton's  hurts  are  curable,  we  shall  know  it  before 
they  get  back,  and  provide  accordingly.  But  one  thing  must  be 
cared  for.  Rawdon  must  not  know  Morton  in  the  house  of  Flora 
Middleton.  That  would  spoil  all.  I  must  speak  with  him  before 
the  body  arrives.  He  must  leave  the  matter  to  me." 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  tie  that  attached  Watson  Gray 
to  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders,  his  course  was  evidently  that  of 
a/true  and  shrewdly  thinking  friend.  He  had  no  sooner  deter- 
mined what  was  proper  for  him  to  do,  than  he  hurried  ahead  of 
the  procession,  and  made  his  appearance  in  the  spacious  hall  of 
the  mansion  several  minutes  before  it  could  possibly  arrive.  His 
lordship  was  in  the  parlor  with  the  ladies,  but  Gray  knew  him 


A  CONFERENCE  WITH  THE  ENEMY.         243 

to  be  a  man  of  business,  with  whom  business  is  always  a  suffi- 
cient plea  for  any  interruption. 

"  Say  to  his  lordship  4hat  Watson  Gray  would  speak  with 
him  in  private,  on  matters  of  some  importance,"  he  said  to  an 
officer  in  attendance,  who  knew  the  estimation  in  which  the 
scout  was  held,  aud  at  once  disappeared  to  do  his  bidding. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

A  CONFERENCE  WITH  THE  ENEMY. 

LORD  RAWDON  appears  in  the  history  of  the  war  in  the  south- 
ern colonies,  to  have  been  one  of  the  sternest  leaders  of  the  time  : 
as  sanguinary  in  his  temper  as  Earl  Cornwallis,  and  without  any 
of  those  impulses  of  a  better  temper  which  have  secured  for  the 
latter,  from  one  of  the  American  captains,  the  doubtfully  de- 
served epithet  of  the  "amiable  Cornwallis."  Rawdon  left  him- 
self open  neither  to  the  lurking  irony  nor  the  obvious  flattery  of 
such  an  epithet.  His  discipline  was  rigid  to  the  last  degree  ;  his 
temper  cold  and  inflexible ;  and  he  seems  to  have  regarded  the 
enemies  whom  he  had  the  fortune  to  conquer,  as  something 
which,  like  the  spoil  he  won,  he  might  easily  dispose  of  accord- 
ing to  the  mood  which  governed  him  at  the  moment,  and  not 
under  the  direction  of  any  fixed  principles  or  written  laws.  His 
cruelties,  open  and  specious,  are  on  record;  but  these  do  not 
concern  us  at  this  moment ;  and  we  must  admit  that  the  king 
of  England  had  no  representative  in  all  the  Revolution  who 
was  more  constant  to  his  duties  or  more  resolute  in  their  per- 
formance. Lord  Rawdon  had  also  the  merit  of  being  a  gentle- 
man; a  hard,  cold,  inflexible  soldier — too  free  to  shed  blood, 
and  not  politic  enough  to  do  so  at  the  right  time  and  in  the  right 
place  ;  obdurate  in  his  purpose  and  unpliant  in  his  feelings — but 
still  a  gentleman :  a  qualification  for  his  crimes  of  perhaps  very 
small  intrinsic  value,  but  one  which  he  possessed  in  common 
with  very  few,  among  the  many  with  whom  he  co-operated  du- 
ring his  career  in  the  southern  country. 


244  THE   SCOUT. 

Well  acquainted  with  the  character  of  the  Middleton  family, 
it  had  been,  as  we  have  already  elsewhere  intimated,  the  policy 
of  this  commander,  as  well  as  of  him  by  whom  he  had  been  pre- 
ceded, to  treat  the  inmates  of  the  barony  with  all  indulgence. 
Their  popularity  with  the  surrounding  country,  which  it  was  de- 
sirable to  conciliate,  was  a  sufficient  reason  for  an  indulgence 
which,  in  the  reckless  career  of  the  invaders,  they  had  not  been 
disposed  to  extend  to  many ;  and  the  time  was  fast  approaching 
when,  in  the  declining  power  of  their  arms,  their  desperation  led 
them  to  withdraw  even  this  degree  of  favor,  in  the  vain  hope  to 
coerce  the  patriotism  which  they  found  it  impossible  to  persuade 
or  seduce. 

Already  had  the  tone  of  British  superiority  been  lowered. 
They  could  no  longer  maintain  themselves  in  their  strongholds ; 
and,  evacuating  Camden  under  the  accumulating  pressure  of  the 
American  forces,  Rawdon  was  even  now  on  his  way  to  Ninety- 
Six,  to  protract  the  hour  of  its  downfall.  This  was  the  last  strong- 
hold left  them  in  the  interior,  and  to  delay,  not  to  baffle  its  as- 
sailants, in  the  work  of  conquest,  was  now  the  only  hope  of  the 
British  commander.  The  political  aspects  of  the  time  were  all 
unfavorable  to  British  ascendency ;  and  the  temper  of  his  lord- 
ship underwent  a  corresponding  change  with  his  changing  for- 
tunes. This  could  be  seen  by  the  Middletons  the  moment  when 
he  announced  himself  their  guest,  with  the  air  and  manner  of 
one  who  feels  all  the  changes  in  his  own  fortunes,  and  readily 
divines  the  effect  of  such  change  upon  his  reluctant  host.  He 
looked,  though  he  did  not  say :  — 

"  I  know  that  you  receive  me  with  reluctance — that  my 
presence  is  hateful  to  you — nay,  that  you  perceive  and  exult  in 
my  approaching  overthrow — but  I  still  have  the  power  to  com- 
pel your  respect,  and  I  may  yet  awaken  your  fears.  You  shall 
receive  me,  and  seem  glad  to  do  so." 

But  the  suspicious  mood  of  Rawdon  became  quieted  when,  in 
the  gentle  and  easy  deportment  of  the  ladies,  he  failed  to  behold 
the  exulting  expression  of  those  sentiments  which  he  fancied 
might  fill  their  bosoms.  They  were  superior  to  that  vulgar  sen- 
timent of  triumph  which  shows  itself  in  the  ill-disguised  grin,  or 
in  the  reserved  and  chilling  demeanor.  A  quiet  dignity  and  a 


A  CONFERENCE  WITH  THE  ENEMY.         245 

gentle  grace  were  apparent  in  the  conduct  of  both,  in  receiving 
the  British  chief:  and  this,  in  the  younger  of  the  two  ladies,  was 
mingled  with  some  little  tremulousness — the  result  of  her  con- 
sciousness of  what  had  just  before  taken  place  between  herself 
and  Clarence  Conway — which  Hawdon  was  not  unwilling  to 
ascribe  to  the  agitation  which  his  own  presence  must  naturally 
produce  upon  a  very  youthful  mind. 

This  notion  pleased  his  self-complacency,  and  made  the  work 
of  soothing  more  easy  to  the  ladies ;  but  they  could  still  perceive 
that  they  had  assumed,  as  enemies,  in  the  recent  successes  of 
their  countrymen,  and  increased  importance  in  his  eyes,  which 
lessened  his  smiles,  and  probably  increased  their  dangers ;  — 
and  they  were  soon  made  to  understand  this  difference  in  a  more 
direct  and  decided  manner. 

Tea,  at  the  time  the  bane  of  the  country,  though  the  blessing 
of  the  ladies,  was  the  crowning  dish  of  the  evening  repast ;  and 
this  commodity,  though  employed  simply  in  compliment  to  the 
Briton,  gave  Rawdon  an  opportunity  to  say  something  on  the 
subject  of  their  loyalty,  as  he  sat  down  the  rich  bowl  of  gold- 
rimmed  China,  from  which,  in  that  day  of  a  luxury  far  more 
ostentatious  than  ours,  though  of  far  less  general  ostentation,  the 
precious  beverage  was  drunk. 

"  I  rejoice  to  see,  ladies,  that  your  patriotism — so  I  think 
you  call  this  flinging  away  your  king  and  country — takes  coun- 
sel of  good  taste,  and  does  not  allow  you  to  fling  away  your 
tea-bowls  also.  It  would  have  been  a  serious  trial  of  faith  to 
your  sex  to  have  given  up  the  celestial  liquor  for  more  than  a 
season." 

The  old  lady  answered  smartly,  with  no  small  portion  of  that 
spirit  which  then  distinguished  the  dames  of  Carolina. 

"  I  can  not  accept  your  compliment  to  our  tastes,  my  lord,  at 
the  expense  of  our  patriotism.  You  perceive  that  while  your 
lordship  drinks  tea,  we  confine  ourselves  to  such  beverage  only 
as  our  milch  cattle  yield  us.  Sometimes  we  regale  ourselves  on 
Indian  tea,  which  is  made  of  the  Cussenca  leaf;  but?  this  only 
when  our  milk  fails  us,  which  is  no  unfrequent  event,  since  the 
Black  Uiders  have  found  their  way  into  our  neighborhood." 

"  And  their  presence,  madam,  is  only  another  evil  consequence 


246  THE   SCOUT. 

of  your  patriotism.  But  surely  the  whole  burden  of  this  com- 
plaint should  not  fall  upon  the  Black  Riders.  There  have  been 
such  '  Riders'  as  follow  Lee  and  Sumter  in  this  neighborhood 
lately  ;  of  whom  report  speaks  not  more  favorably ;  and  who 
probably  love  milch  cattle  quite  as  well  as  anybody  else.  Nay, 
my  fair  young  mistress,"  addressing  himself  to  Flora,  "  there  is 
another  Rider,  black  enough  in  my  eyes,  but,  perhaps,  anything 
but  black  in  yours.  Ha !  you  can  guess  who  I  mean  by  this 
description;  and  I  will  not  name  him  for  your  sake ; — but  let 
me  catch  him !"  and  he  raised  a  threatening  finger,  while  a 
half  smile  rested  upon  his  lips.  Flora  could  not  altogether 
suppress  the  blush  which  found  its  way  to  her  cheeks,  and  was 
as  little  able  to  control  the  irony  that  rose  at  the  same  time  to 
her  lips. 

"  Ah,  my  lord,  you  are  too  severe  upon  our  poor  sex ;  but — " 

She  paused,  and  the  color  heightened  upon  her  cheeks. 

"  But  what  ?"  he  asked,  seeing  her  hesitate. 

"  But  what  if  he  catches  you,  my  lord  ?" 

"  Flora,  Flora  !"  said  the  grandmother,  with  a  look  and  voice 
of  warning.  A  momentary  gravity  overspread  the  face  of 
Rawdon,  and  his  severe  features,  under  the  dark  shade  of  his 
lowering  brows,  almost  startled  Flora  with  a  sentiment  of  ap- 
prehension for  her  own  imprudence ;  but  the  good  sense  and 
breeding  of  his  lordship  came  to  her  relief  as  well  as  his  own. 

"  Ah,  my  fair  foe,"  he  said  with  a  smile  of  good  nature,  "  still 
incorrigible — still  dangerous.  The  tongues  of  your  Carolina 
ladies  inflict  deeper  wounds  than  the  swords  of  your  heroes." 

"  I  would  you  could  think  so,  my  lord." 

"  Why,  they  do,"  he  answered,  "  they  do." 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  I  will  not  contradict  you,  and  yet  I  am  try- 
ing to  persuade  myself  that  you  will  think  otherwise  before 
you  come  back  from  '  Ninety-Six.'  " 

"And  do  you  find  the  task  of  self-persuasion  difficult?  I 
should  think  not ;  and  least,  you  hope  I  will  come  back  ]" 

"Yes,  my  lord,  I  hope  so — in  safety;  but  with  such  opinions 
as  will  make  you  think  better  of  our  soldiers,  and,  in  this  reason, 
find  a  much  farther  journey  necessary." 

"  What,  to  Charleston,  eh  1  a  forced  march  back  ?" 


A  CONFERENCE  WITH  THE  ENEMY.         247 

"  To  England,  my  lord ;  to  England ;  at  that  distance  there 
will  be  some  chance  of  our  being  better  friends,  and  we  shall 
then  resume  our  tea." 

"  But  without  the  duties  ?"  he  said  laughing. 

"  Not  altogether,  my  lord.  I,  for  one,  feel  all  the  disposition 
to  be  the  dutiful  friend — if  you  please  the  dutiful  child — of 
England; — but  not  the  subject,  not  the  slave!  Her  victim, 
rather!" 

"  Ah,  my  fair  Flora,  we  wish  no  sacrifice :  none  of  you,  at 
least.  We  shall  drag  no  damsel  to  the  altar,  unless  it  be  to  one 
of  her  own  choosing.  But,  in  return  for  this  sharp  speech  of 
yours,  fair  lady,  suffer  me  to  know  when  Colonel  Conway  was 
here  last ;  how  long  since  he  has  taken  his  departure,  and  where 
I  may  expect  to  find  him  ?" 

"  He  has  been  here,  my  lord,  I  frankly  tell  you,  but  when  he 
left  I  will  not  say.  You  will  find  him " 

She  hesitated  as  if  in  meditation,  while  her  large  brilliant 
eyes  shone  without  a  cloud  upon  her  auditor,  and  her  form 
seemed  to  dilate  in  more  than  feminine  majesty  as  she  rose  to 
leave  the  room  :  — 

"  Stay,  Miss  Middleton,"  said  his  lordship,  "you  have  not  told 
me  where  I  may  expect  to  find  Colonel  Conway." 

Her  answer  was  immediate,  with  flashing  eyes,  and  fearless 
accents. 

"  You  may  expect  to  find  him,  my  lord,  wherever  an  ambush 
can  be  laid ;  whenever  a  bold  soldier  may  fancy  that  his  sword 
can  make  an  enemy  feel ;  or  a  good  blow  can  be  struck  for  the 
liberties  of  his  country." 

"  Humph  !"  exclaimed  Rawdon,  gravely,  though  without  dis- 
pleasure, as  Flora  left  the  room.  "  Your  granddaughter,  Mrs. 
Middleton,  is  quite  as  fierce  a  rebel  as  ever." 

"  She  is  young,  my  lord,  and  very  enthusiastic,  but  though 
she  speaks  thus,  I'm  sure  she  is  quite  as  unhappy  at  this  war  as 
any  of  us.  We  all  wish  it  well  over." 

"  That  is  saying  everything  for  the  right  side.  To  wish  it 
well  over,  madam,  is  simply  to  wish  our  king  his  own  again. 
But  now,  that  your  daughter  has  withdrawn,  let  me  remind  you, 
Mrs.  Middleton,  of  the  royal  favor  to  yourself  and  family " 


248  THE  SCOUT. 

"To  me,  my  lord; — to  my  family!"  was  the  reply  of  the 
venerable  lady,  with  some  appearance  of  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  madam,  in  the  immunity  you  have  so  long  enjoyed, 
when  it  has  been  well  known  to  his  majesty's  commanders  in 
the  South,  that  your  own  and  the  sentiments  of  your  grand- 
daughter— your  opinions  and  wishes — are  all  unfavorable  to 
his  authority." 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  my  lord,  that  his  majesty's  officers  are 
instructed  to  wage  war  against  the  opinions  of  the  women  as 
well  as  the  swords  of  the  men  of  Carolina?" 

"  No,  madam,  far  from  it ;  but  those  opinions  sharpen  those 
swords " 

"  I  am  proud,  my  lord,  to  think,  and  hear  you  acknowledge 
that  such  is  the  case  !" 

"  I  had  not  thought,  madam,  to  have  hearkened  to  this  lan- 
guage from  your  lips.  The  protection  you  have  enjoyed — 
your  immunities  from  the  confiscation  which  has  usually  followed 
disloyalty — should,  I  think,  have  prompted  a  degree  of  grati- 
tude for  his  majesty's  government,  which  would  have  saved  his 
representative  from  such  an  answer." 

"  You  mistake,  my  lord,  in  some  important  particulars.  My 
immunities  are  not  due  to  his  majesty's  government.  If  they 
are  to  be  spoken  of  as  due  anywhere,  they  must  be  ascribed  to 
that  sense  of  manliness  in  the  soldiers  of  both  sides  in  this 
bloody  warfare,  all  of  whom,  it  seems  to  me,  would  have  blushed 
the  color  of  your  scarlet,  my  lord,  at  doing  hurt  to  two  lone 
women  in  the  wilderness." 

Rawdon  did  blush  with  vexation  at  the  retort,  as  he  answered 
it  with  a  strong  effort  at  gentlemanly  composure. 

"  You  have  surely  mistaken  me,  Mrs.  Middleton.  My  purpose 
was  simply  to  intimate  that  his  majesty's  officers  have  been  at 
some  pains,  more  than  is  customary  in  a  country  which  has  been 
so  completely  covered  with  contending  armies,  to  preserve  from 
detriment  and  hurt  your  possessions  and  interests." 

"  I  confess,  my  lord,  the  amount  of  what  you  now  say  seems 
to  me  to  differ  little  from  what  was  said  before.  You  have  for- 
borne to  seize  my  own  and  my  child's  property,  though  we  have 
been  bold  enough  to  think  that  you  had  no  right  to  seize  it ;  and 


A  CONFERENCE  WITH  THE  ENEMY.         249 

for  this  you  demand  our  gratitude.  My  lord,  I  understand, 
though  you  have  not  spoken,  the  real  purpose  which  you  feel 
unwilling  to  declare.  I  can  very  well  comprehend  the  diffi- 
culties under  which  his  majesty's  arms  labor  at  present.  I  know 
that  their  supplies  are  everywhere  cut  off;  and  that  they  look 
to  what  are  called  'forced  loans'  to  enable  them  to  prosecute 
the  war." 

"  You  are  well  informed,  I  perceive,  madam.  Am  I  to  under- 
stand that  the  rebel  Sumter  has  been  recently  your  guest  ?" 

"  Within  ten  days,  my  lord ;  and  my  opinions  being  such  as 
they  are,  I  placed  in  his  hands,  for  the  use  of  my  country,  the 
entire  plate  of  the  Middleton  barony,  and  every  jewel  of  value 
which  belonged  to  myself  and  child.  The  few  spoons  which 
graced  our  board  to-night,  and  the  bowl  in  which  our  children 
have  been  baptized  from  immemorial  time,  are  all  that  were 
kept  back  from  the  free  gift  which  my  feelings  made  to  my 
friends.  These,  my  lord " 

"  Of  these,  madam,  the  cause  of  my  king  does  not  make  it 
necessary  that  I  should  deprive  you,"  replied  Hawdon,  with  a 
graceful  dignity  which  left  nothing  to  be  complained  of.  "  Your 
plate  would  have  been  important  to  us,  Mrs.  Middleton ;  and 
you  will  do  us  the  justice  to  believe  that,  knowing  as  we  did  its 
great  intrinsic  value,  we  did  not  make  this  requisition  until  the 
last  hour,  and  then  only  in  obedience  to  necessities  which  none 
but  ourselves  can  comprehend.  Believe  me,  madam,  though  I 
am  somewhat  disappointed,  it  is  a  pain  spared  me,  which  I  would 
have  felt,  in  depriving  you  of  this  family  treasure.  Nor  can  I 
complain,  regarding  your  social  attachments  with  respect,  that 
you  have  yielded  it  to  the  hands  of  those  who  will  makevuse  of 
it  against  me.  I  must  do  as  well  as  I  can  without  it.  Let  me 
not  lose  your  esteem,  my  dear  madam,  because  of  my  proposi- 
tion, which  you  will  also  do  me  the  justice  to  believe  was  not 
less  painful  than  unavoidable." 

The  message  of  Watson  Gray  was  received  at  this  moment, 
and  the  venerable  old  lady  disappeared  with  a  kind  courtesy, 
leaving  his  lordship  free  to  the  interview  with  the  scout. 

"A  brave-hearted  old  woman !"  said  his  lordship,  during  the 
brief  interval  in  which  he  remained  alone.  "  She  has  given  a 

11* 


250  THE  SCOUT. 

monstrous  subsidy  to  Greene,  which  will  keep  him  on  his  legs  a 
while,  and  perhaps  trip  ours ;  and  yet  I  can  not  be  angry  with 
her.  The  stock  is  a  good  one  ;  one  would  almost  wish  a  mother 
or  a  daughter  of  such  a  noble  heart  and  so  fearless  a  temper. 
Ah,  Gray,  I've  been  looking  for  you.  When  did  you  get  over 
from  the  Wateree  ?" 

"  I  left  there  yesterday  morning.  I  rode  all  night,  and  had 
to  make  more  than  two  turns  between  the  Hills  and  the  Conga- 
ree,  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  Marion's  men,  who  seem  to  me  to 
be  thicker  than  ever.  Your  lordship's  for  Ninety-Six  ?" 

"  Yes ;  can  you  tell  me  anything  about  it  ?  These  rascally 
horse  of  Lee  and  Conway  have,  I  fear,  cut  off  all  my  messengers 
to  Cruger,  as  they  certainly  have  cut  off  everything,  in  the  shape 
of  intelligence,  from  me." 

"  Ninety-Six  is  dreadful  hard  pressed,  your  lordship  ;  that's  all 
I  know,  and  that  was  my  knowledge  three  days  ago." 

"  I  fear  I  shall  be  too  late,"  said  Rawdon.  "  But  you  wished 
to  see  me  on  other  business.  What  is  it  ?" 

"  Does  your  lordship  know  that  Colonel  Conway,  with  all  his 
troop,  has  been  here  within  the  last  hour "?  Your  coming  scared 
him  from  his  roost." 

"Indeed,  so  lately!"  said  his  lordship.  "Then  he  can  not 
even  now  be  far.  We  must  send  Major  Banks  after  him ;" — 
and  his  lordship  was  about  to  summon  a  messenger. 

"  If  I  might  venture  to  counsel  your  lordship,  you  will  do 
nothing  to-night.  It  will  be  only  to  send  your  detachment  into 
an  ambush.  This  is  what  Conway  expects,  and  what  he  will 
prepare  for." 

"  But  we  can  not  suffer  him  to  lie  or  loiter  about  our  encamp- 
ment ;  we  must  brush  him  off  at  the  risk  of  a  sting." 

"  No,  your  lordship ;  but  a  double  guard  and  extra  videttes 
will  serve  all  necessary  purposes,  and,  with  the  dawn,  Major 
Banks  can  be  in  motion.  Now,  however,  Conway  is  in  posses- 
sion of  his  own  ground,  all  of  which  he  knows,  while  Major 
Banks  will  be  moving  to  danger  with  a  blind  across  his  eyes." 

"  You  are  right ;  and  what  has  Conway  been  doing  here,  and 
where  is  his  brother — our  desperado  of  the  Congaree?" 


A  CONFERENCE  WITH  THE  ENEMY.         251 

"  Here,  also  ! — within  a  hundred  yards  of  us." 

"  Ha !     How  is  it  I  have  not  seen  him,  then  ?" 

"  You  will  see  him  shortly,  my  lord,  and  in  bad  condition. 
The  brothers  have  met,  single-handed ;  and  they  have  brought 
the  old  grudge  to  a  finish,  I'm  afraid.  There  has  been  a  despe- 
rate fight  between  them,  and  the  captain  is  very  much  hurt.  It 
is  somewhat  doubtful  if  he  ever  gets  over  it." 

"  And  the  other — the  rebel — has  he  escaped? — goes  he  scot 
free  ?" 

"  That  I  can't  tell.  I  should  think  not,  however ;  for,  know- 
ing how  Ned  Morton  hates  him,  and  how  many  good  reasons  he 
has  for  killing  him,  he  would  run  ajl  risks  of  his  own  life  to  make 
a  finish  of  the  other.  His  condition  makes  me  think  that  the 
other  must  be  hurt ;  but  his  hurts  can  not  be  serious,  for  he  cer- 
tainly got  off." 

"  How  heard  you  this,  Gray  ?" 

"  From  that  rascally  fellow,  Bannister,  otherwise  called  Sup- 
ple Jack — the  same  who  carried  off  Colonel  Cruger's  black 
charger  from  the  Forks  of  Congaree.  The  colonel  offered 
twenty  guineas  to  take  the  scout  alive,  and  I  thought  I  had  him 
at  one  time  to-night.  But  I  caught  a  Tartar.  He  gave  me  a 
strange  trot,  and  such  a  shaking  as  I  shall  feel  in  all  my  bones 
for  a  month  to  come." 

Here  Gray  gave  a  full  description  of  the  scene,  at  which  his 
lordship's  muscles  relaxed  infinitely ;  and  he  then  proceeded  to 
narrate  those  other  details  which  led  him  to  the  subject  of 
Morton's  attendance.  On  this  head  it  was  necessary  to  exercise 
some  adroitness.  It  was  no  part  of  Gray's  policy  to  let  Rawdon 
see  that  a  provincial  scout  should  presume  to  suspect  the  integ- 
rity of  a  royal  officer,  and  he  studiously  forbore,  in  consequence, 
to  declare  those  suspicions  which  he  felt  of  Stockton. 

"It  is  important  that  the  connection  of  Captain  Morton  with 
the  Black  Riders  should  not  be  suspected  while  he  lies  here 
wounded.  No  guard  could  possibly  save  him  from  the  rebels, 
should  they  be  able  to  identify  his  person.  Here,  he  is  known 
as  Edward  Conway,  the  brother  of  one  who  is  no  small  favorite 
with  the  ladies  of  the  barony.  This  will  save  him  from  danger 
without,  and  secure  him  good  attendance  within.  Miss  Middle- 


252  THE  SCOUT. 

ton,  herself,  will,  I  think,  see  to  that,  if  on  the  score  of  his  con- 
nections only.  I  will  provide  the  guard  for  Captain  Morton,  and 
you  can  take  with  you  his  troop,  which  is  under  the  command 
of  Lieutenant  Stockton,  a  brave  man  and  a  good  officer.  They 
are  pretty  strong,  and  the  greatest  daredevils  under  the  sun. 
You'll  get  good  service  out  of  them,  and  will  need  them,  too, 
my  lord,  if,  as  I  suspect,  you  are  somewhat  short  of  cavalry." 

"  You  think  rightly,  Gray ;  and  your  plans  are  good.  I  will 
leave  a  surgeon's  assistant  with  Morton,  which  is  all  that  I  can 
do ;  but  my  own  surgeon  will  see  to  his  hurts  before  he  goes." 

"  Your  lordship  will  be  so  good  as  to  remember  that  Captain 
Morton  is  no  more  than  Mr.  ponway  here." 

"  Ay,  ay ;  but  what  noise  is  that  below  ]" 

"  The  captain's  body,  I  reckon.  Will  your  lordship  look  at 
him?" 

"Is  he  sensible — conscious?" 

"  I  think  not  yet,  my  lord.  He  was  in  a  swoon  when  I  left 
him,  in  consequence  of  loss  of  blood." 

"  It  will  not  need  then.  I  will  send  Mr.  Coppinger  to  exam- 
ine his  hurts,  and  as  I  am  to  know  nothing  about  him,  you  must 
take  your  own  course  to  get  him  domiciled  among  the  ladies." 

"  That  is  easily  done,  your  lordship,"  said  Gray,  retiring  ;  "  I 
have  your  lordship's  permission  to  make  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments." 

"  You  have ;  send  me  Lieutenant  Farrington,  who  waits  with- 
out," said  Rawdon,  as  the  other  left  the  room. 

It  scarcely  need  be  said  that  the  wily  Gray  succeeded  in  all 
his  present  purposes.  His  opinions  were  esteemed  to  be  suffi- 
ciently sound,  by  his  lordship,  to  be  followed  implicitly.  Lieu- 
tenant Stockton  was  relieved  from  the  care  of  his  captain,  and 
ordered  to  place  himself,  with  his  whole  troop,  under  the  com- 
mand of  Major  Banks,  of  the  British  cavalry ;  and  the  bare  inti- 
mation of  Edward  Conway's  situation,  to  the  ladies  of  the  bar- 
ony, secured  for  the  wounded  man  one  of  the  most  comfortable 
chambers  in  the  mansion.  Nor  did  Watson  Gray  neglect  the 
forlorn  and  outcast  damsel  whom  John  Bannister  had  commended 
to  his  care.  An  adjoining  apartment  was  readily  procured  for 
her  in  the  same  spacious  dwelling,  and  the  surgeon's  aid  was 


A    MIDNIGHT   ATTACK  —  A   PRISONER.  253 

solicited  for  the  poor  victim  as  soon  as  it  had  been  bestowed 
upon  her  betrayer.  We  leave  Edward  Conway  in  the  same 
house  with  Flora  Middleton — but  as  yet  utterly  unconscious  of 
hor  presence  and  near  neighborhood — while  we  pursue  the 
route  taken  by  his  brother. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A   MIDNIGHT   ATTACK  —  A    PRISONER. 

CLARENCE  CONWAY  was  not  far  distant  from  the  British 
camp,  and  was  soon  found  by  John  Bannister,  after  the  latter 
had  taken  his  leave  of  Watson  Gray.  The  partisan  had  already 
reached  his  troop,  and  got  it  in  partial  readiness  for  immediate 
exercise.  His  force  was  little  more  than  that  of  a  captain's 
command,  consisting  of  some  eighty-five  men  all  told  ;  but,  on 
occasion,  his  regiment  might  be  made  complete.  Such  fluctu- 
ations were  constant  in  the  American  army  ;  and  were  inevitably 
consequent  to  the  miserable  system  then  prevalent  in  regard  to 
militia  service.  Marion's  brigade  has  been  known  to  range 
from  eighty  to  eight  hundred  men ;  nor  was  this  difference,  in 
scarcely  any  case,  the  result  of  disaster.  The  volunteers  came 
and  went,  according  to  circumstances  of  mor^)r  less  necessity, 
and  sometimes  as  it  suited  their  inclinations.  ™ 

There  were  always  good  reasons  for  this  seeming  laxity  of 
discipline,  as  well  because  of  the  pressure  of  a  far  superior  foe, 
as  in  the  exhausted  condition  of  the  country  of  Carolina  ;  where, 
for  a  space  of  nearly  two  years,  few  crops  of  any  kind  had  been 
planted;  and  it  became  next  to  impossible  to  find  food  and 
forage  for  any  large  body  of  men  and  horse,  for  any  considerable 
time  together.  The  service  was  of  a  sort,  also,  to  render  small 
bodies  of  horse  far  more  useful  than  grand  armies  ;  and  where 
food  was  to  be  procured,  and  brought  from  a  great  distance, 
such  detachments  were  of  the  very  last  importance.  Conway's 
regiment,  according  to  the  necessities  of  the  service,  was  in  half 


254  THE  SCOUT. 

a  dozen  hands  ;  Sumter  had  a  portion  of  it  at  this  very  moment 
on  the  Santee ;  Marion  on  the  Pedee ;  while  Greene  exercised 
the  remaining  divisions  as  Con  way,  employed  the  small  body  in 
his  immediate  command — in  cutting  off  supplies,  intercepting 
messengers,  overawing  the  disaffected,  and  hanging  upon  the 
skirts  of  the  enemy  while  they  marched,  as  in  the  case  of  Raw- 
don's  army,  at  this  very  time,  in  a  body  too  large  for  any  more 
bold  procedure. 

Bannister  found  his  leader  well  prepared  for  movement,  and 
anxiously  awaiting  him.  The  former  told  his  story  in  a  few 
words,  not  entirely  omitting  the  ludicrous  passages  which  had 
taken  place  between  himself  and  Gray.  As  the  connection 
between  this  latter  person  and  Edward  Morton  was  very  well 
known  to  Clarence,  the  mind  of  the  latter  was  rendered  rather 
more  easy  on  the  subject  of  his  brother.  He  knew  that  Morton 
was  of  sufficient  importance  to  the  British  army,  to  make  his 
restoration  the  particular  charge  of  Rawdon ;  but  his  satisfac- 
tion on  this  subject  was  somewhat  qualified  when  he  remem- 
bered that  the  patient  would,  necessarily,  become  an  occupant 
of  the  same  dwelling  with  Flora  Middleton.  His  anxieties  were 
such  as  are  natural  enough  to  the  lover,  who,  in  such  cases,  will 
always  be  apt  to  fancy  and  to  fear  a  thousand  evil  influences. 
He  had  no  doubts  of  the  firmness  and  fidelity  of  Flora ;  but, 
knowing  the  evil  connections  of  Morton,  he  dreaded  lest  the 
latter  should  find  some  means  to  abuse  the  hospitality  which  he 
well  knew  wouM  be  accorded  him.  These  thoughts  were 
troublesome  en^^h  to  render  activity  desirable  by  way  of 
relief;  and  after  a  brief  space  given  to  consultation  with  his 
favorite  scout,  and  little  private  meditation,  he  determined  to 
beat  np  the  quarters  of  Rawdon  before  morning. 

It  was  midnight  when  Bannister  began  to  bestir  himself  and 
his  comrades  for  this  purpose.  The  troop  had  been  suffered  to 
snatch  a  few  hours  of  repose  on  the  edge  of  a  little  bay,  that 
stretched  itself  nearly  to  the  river  bank  on  one  hand,  and  to 
the  main  road  of  the  country  on  the  other ;  in  such  a  position 
of  security,  and  under  such  good  watch,  that  no  apprehension 
could  be  excited  for  their  safety.  A  dense  thicket  covered  their 
front ;  beyond,  and  lying  between  the  thicket  and  the  barony, 


A   MIDNIGHT   ATTACK — A   PRISONER.  255 

was  an  open  pine  wood,  the  undergrowth  being  kept  down  by 
the  destructive  practice,  still  barbarously  continued  in  the  south, 
of  firing  the  woods  annually  in  the  opening  of  the  spring.  This 
wood  was  traversed  by  the  scouts  of  Conway,  who  saw  the 
advanced  videttes  of  the  British,  without  suffering  themselves 
to  be  seen,  and  gradually  receded  as  the  latter  continued  to  ap- 
proach ;  still,  however,  keeping  a  keen  eye  upon  the  stations 
which  they  severally  assumed. 

On  the  present  occasion,  following  the  suggestions  of  Watson 
Gray,  Lord  Rawdon  had  doubled  his  sentries,  and  increased  the 
usual  number  of  videttes.  His  post  was  well  guarded,  though 
nothing  could  have  been  more  idle  than  the  fear,  that  a  force 
such  as  he  commanded  could  be  securely  annoyed  by  any  of  the 
roving  squads  of  horse  which  the  Americans  had  dispersed 
about  the  country.  But,  at  this  time,  the  timidity  of  the  British 
increased  hourly  in  due  degree  with  the  increased  audacity  of 
the  Americans.  There  was  too  much  at  stake  to  suffer  any 
British  commander  to  omit  any  of  the  usual  safeguards  of  an 
army  ;  and  their  plans  and  performances,  from  this  period,  show 
a  degree  of  scrupulous  caution,  which  at  certain  periods  of 
strife — and  this  was  one  of  them  in  their  situation — may,  with 
justice,  be  considered  imbecility.  To  dash  for  a  moment  into 
the  camp  of  the  British,  and  carry  off  a  group  of  captives,  was 
one  of  the  ordinary  proofs  of  the  novel  confidence  which  the 
partisans  had  acquired  of  their  own  prowess,  during  the  year  in 
progress. 

Conway,  however,  was  not  the  man  to  do  anything  rashly  at 
such  a  moment.  If  caution  was  necessary  to  the  British,  pru- 
dence was  also  a  high  virtue,  at  this  particular  juncture,  with 
the  Americans.  Before  he  led  his  men  forward,  he  determined 
to  explore  the  British  camp  himself ;  and,  having  arranged  with 
Bannister  for  a  concerted  espionage,  the  two  went  forward  for 
this  purpose,  though  on  different  routes.  Conway  pursued  the 
way  through  the  pine-forest  in  front,  while  Bannister  took  an 
opposite  but  parallel  course  along  the  high  road,  which  he 
crossed  for  this  purpose.  They  were  absent  about  two  hours,  and, 
in  the  meantime,  everything  was  quiet  enough  in  the  camps. 
At  the  end  of  this  period  they  returned  in  safety  ;  and  a  mutual 


256  THE  SCOUT. 

report  enabled  them  to  determine  upon  the  course  which  they 
were  to  take. 

They  had  satisfied  themselves  of  the  true  position  of  the 
British  army,  and  discovered,  that  while  the  sentries  were 
doubled  on  the  path  to  which  it  was  advancing,  they  had  not 
conceived  it  necessary  to  place  more  than  an  ordinary  watch  on 
that  which  they  had  passed  over  during  the  day.  By  making 
a  small  circuit  of  a  mile  and  a  half  along  a  negro  footpath, 
which  carried  them  through  a  swamp  on  the  right,  Conway 
found  that  he  could  get  into  the  British  rear,  and  probably  use 
the  sabre  to  advantage  on  the  edge  of  the  encampment.  This 
was  to  be  done  with  the  main  body  of  the  troop,  while  a  feint 
was  to  be  made  with  the  residue  along  the  better  guarded 
British  line  in  front. 

It  was  near  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  prepara- 
tions of  the  partisans  were  completed ;  and  John  Bannister  had 
already  gathered  together  the  division  which  had  been  assigned 
him,  when  his  sleeve  was  plucked  by  a  soldier  whose  person  he 
could  not  distinguish  in  the  shadows  where  they  stood.  This 
person  called  him  aside  for  a  moment,  and  Bannister  then  dis- 
covered him  to  be  the  father  of  poor  Mary  Clarkson.  This 
man  was  a  sullen,  dark,  solitary,  but  unsubdued  spirit — who 
said  nothing,  felt  nothing,  asked  for  nothing,  complained  of 
nothing,  and  had  but  one  desire  in  the  world.  John  Bannister 
had  missed  sight  of  Clarkson  for  some  time  till  now ;  and,  per- 
haps, had  rather  avoided  him  since  his  return  from  the  scene 
in  which  his  unlucky  arm  inflicted  the  unintentional  injury  upon 
his  unhappy  daughter.  He  now  shrunk  to  look  upon  the  miser- 
able old  man ;  and  when  he  spoke  to  him,  it  was  with  a  feeling 
of  compunctious  sorrow,  almost  as  great  as  he  would  have  felt 
had  he  himself  inflicted  upon  the  unhappy  father  the  vital  injury 
which  was  due  to  Edward  Morton  only. 

"  You  ha'n't  spoke  to  me  about  going  with  you,  Jack  Bannis- 
ter," said  Clarkson,  with  some  irritation  in  his  tones ;  "  but  I'm 
going  with  you  jest  the  same." 

11  No,  Jake,  you're  to  keep  with  Lieutenant  Peyton's  party, 
that's  to  make  a  feint  here  in  front.  He'll  call  you  up,  the 
moment  we  set  off." 


A   MIDNIGHT  ATTACK. — A   PRISONER.  257 

" I  don't  stay  with  him,  Jack;  I  must  keep  with  you  or  the 
colonel,"  said  the  man,  doggedly. 

"  But  why,  Jake?  why  won't  you  stay  ?" 

"  You're  going  to  strike  at  the  camp,  ain't  you  1  You'll  ride 
up  to  the  barony,  perhaps  ?" 

"  May  be  so — there's  no  tellin'  yet." 

"  That's  why  I  want  to  go  with  you  or  the  colonel." 

"  Well  now.  Jake,  I'd  much  rather  you'd  stay  with  the  lieu- 
tenant." 

"It's  onpossible,"  said  Clarkson,  obstinately.  "Look  you, 
Jack  Bannister,  I  don't  take  it  as  friendly,  that  you  didn't  tell 
tell  me  that  Ned  Gonway  was  at  the  barony." 

"How  do  you  know?  .who  told  you?"  demanded  the  wood- 
man in  some  astonishment' 

"  Never  you  mind.  I  know  that  you  saw  him  there ;  and 
what's  more,  I  know  that  the  colonel  fou't  with  him,  and  's  hurt 
him  mightily.  But  I  know  he's  not  got  what's  to  finish  him ; 
and  I'll  go  where  there's"  any  chance  to  do  it." 

"  Lord,  Jake,  there's  no  chance.  We'll  not  get  nigher  to  the 
camp  than  the  outposts,  and  if  we  can  carry  off  a  few  outskairt- 
ers,  it's  all  we  look  for.  Ned  Conway  is  at  the  house,  I  reckon, 
snug  in  his  bed,  with  more  than  a  thousand  men  close  round 
him.  There's  no  chance  for  you  to  reach  him." 

"  I  reckon  I  can  work,  through  alj  of  them,  John  Bannister, 
seeing  what's  my  business.  I  must  go  with  you  or  the  colonel, 
no  mistake." 

Bannister  knew  his  man — knew  how  idle  was  everything  like 
expostulation ;  and  though  he  also  well  knew  that  such  a  deter- 
mination as  Clarkson  expressed  was  only  likely  to  insure  his  being 
knocked  on  the  head  sooner  than  any  of  the  rest,  yet,  as  that 
was  only  a  chance  of  war  among  military  philosophers,  he  let 
him  have  his  own  way,  and  quietly  enrolled  him  with  the  rest. 

It  would  have  been  a  study  for  the  painter  to  have  seen  the 
savage  old  man  reload  his  rifle,  pick  the  touchhole,  put  in  extra 
priming,  and  turn  the  bullet  in  his  jaws,  ere  he  wrapped  it  in 
the  greasy  fold  of  buckskin  of  which  his  patches  were  made. 

"  Poor  old  fellow !"  muttered  Bannister  to  himself  as  he  be- 
held these  operations.  I'm  thinking  he  says  a  prayer  every 


258  THE  SCOUT. 

time  he  chooses  a  bullet;    I'm    sure  he  does  whenever  he's 
grinding  his  knife." 

It  was  with  some  reluctance  that  Clarkson  was  persuaded  to 
gird  a  sabre  at  his  side.  The  instrument  was  new  to  his  hand, 
but  he  clutched  it  with  sufficient  familiarity  when  Bannister  told 
him  it  was  heavy  and  sharp  enough  to  cleave  a  man  through 
from  his  shoulder  to  his  thigh. 

All  being  now  in  readiness,  Conway  gave  instructions  to  Lieu- 
tenant Peyton  to  make  no  movement  on  the  front,  until  suffi- 
cient time  had  been  allowed  him  for  getting  into  the  rear  of  the 
encampment ;  and  then  to  give  the  alarm,  and  beat  up  the  ene- 
my's quarters,  with  all  the  clamor  he  could  command.  By  two 
and  two,  he  led  his  troops  forward,  each  man  on  foot  and  guiding 
his  steed  with  shortened  rein,  until  they  had  passed  the  narrow 
open  neck  of  high  land  on  which  the  public  road  ran,  and  which 
separated  the  one  bay,  which  he  had  lately  occupied,  from  another 
to  which  he  now  bent  his  steps.  A  British  vidette  was  stationed 
not  more  than  a  hundrjed  yards  from  the  point  of  passage,  and 
great  indeed  were  the  anxieties  of  Clarence  and  of  all,  until  the 
horses  ceased  to  traverse  the  highland,  and  entered  upon  the 
mucky  unresounding  footing  of  the  swamp. 

But  they  escaped  without  notice.  The  British  sentinel  was 
in  his  drowsiest  mood — drunk  perhaps- — and  suffered  the  pas- 
sage to  be  effected  without  alarm.  The  last  two  files  were 
now  entirely  beyond  his  hearing,  and  Conway,  throwing  off  the 
difficult  restraint  which  his  impatience  felt  as  a  curb  and  bit, 
gave  orders  to  his  followers  to  mount  and  follow  him  at  as  swift 
a  pace  as  possible,  through  the  negro  trail  which  they  now  trav- 
ersed. Then,  a  silence  as  awful  as  that  of  the  grave  descended 
upon  the  forest  which  he  had  left,  and  prevailed  over  the  region 
for  a  space  of  nearly  two  hours  more;  when  Lieutenant  Peyton 
prepared  to  make  the  feint  which  was  to  divert  the  attention  of 
the  British  camp  from  the  point  which  was  more  certainly 
threatened.  With  twenty  men,  judiciously  scattered  along  the 
front,  so  as  to  present  an  object  of  equal  alarm  to  the  whole  line 
of  the  enemy's  sentries,  he  slowly  advanced,  and  having  that  ad- 
vantage which  arises  from  a  perfect  knowledge  of  his  ground,  his 
approach  remained  unseen  and  unsuspected  until  it  was  almost 


A  MIDNIGHT  ATTACK  —  A   PRISONER.  259 

possible  for  his  pistols  to  be.  emptied  with  some  prospect  of  each 
bullet  being  made  to  tell  upon  its  separate  victim. 

A  silence  almost  equally  great  prevailed  over  that  vast  hive 
of  human  hearts  which  was  then  beating  within  the  immediate 
precincts  of  the  barony.    Sleep  had  possessed  the  great  body  of 
its  inmates.    Exhaustion  had  done  its  work.    The  forced  marches 
of  Lord  Rawdon,  stimulated  as  they  had  been  by  the  fear  of 
losing  the  last  and  strongest  outposts  of  his  government,  together 
with  its  brave  and  numerous  garrison,  had  severely  tested  the 
strength  and  the  spirit  of  his  troops,  and  deep  was  the  lethargy 
of  all  those  to  whom  the  privilege  of  sleep  had  been  accorded. 
Nor  were  those  to  whom  sleep  had  been  expressly  denied,  in  a 
condition  of  much  more  ability  and  consciousness.     The  senti- 
nels, though  strictly  cautioned,  had  suffered  themselves  to  be  per- 
suaded that  there  could  be  no  danger  in  a  region  in  which  they 
well  knew  there  was  no  enemy  imbodied  in  sufficient  force  to 
make  itself  feared  by  their  own ;  and  if  they  had  not  formally 
yielded  themselves  up  to  sleep  upon  their  places  of  watch,  they 
at  least  made  no  serious  effort  to  escape  its  grateful  influences, 
and  were  no  longer  vigilant  as  they  would  have  been  in  a  time 
of  danger.     Throughout   the   avenue,   and   ranged   along   the 
grounds  of  the  park  which  lay  beside  it,  two  thousand  men,  in 
groups,  lay  upon  their  arms,  in  happy  slumber,  uncovered  to  the 
serene  sky  of  May ;  while,  in  the  silvery  glances  of  the  soft 
moonlight,  which  glistened  brightly  from  his  steel  cap  and  pol- 
ished bayonet,  the  drowsy  sentinel  performed  his  weary  round 
of  watch ;   or,  leaning  in  half  consciousness  only,  against  the 
massive  trunk  of  some  ancient  oak,  yielded  himself,  in  momen- 
tary forgetfulness,  to  dream  of  the  green  island  or  the  heathery 
highlands  of  his  European  home. 

In  the  mansion  where  Lord  Rawdon  had  taken  up  his  abode, 
the  same  silence  prevailed,  but  not  the  same  degree  of  apathy. 
Busy  and  sad  hearts,  and  suffering  forms,  were  wakeful  in  its 
several  chambers.  Rawdon  himself  slept ;  but,  in  the  apartment 
assigned  to  the  chief  of  the  Black  Riders,  Watson  Gray  was  an 
anxious  watcher.  The  surgeon  had  examined  and  dressed  the 
wounds  of  the  former,  upon  which  he  had  as  yet  declined  to 
give  an  opinion.  Oonway  had  lost  much  blood,  and  this,  Gray 


260  THE  SCOUT. 

very  well  knew,  was  rather  favorable  than  otherwise  to  his  con- 
dition. The  patient  lay,  not  sleeping,  perhaps,  but  with  his  eyes 
closed  and  his  senses  seemingly  unobservant.  An  occasional 
groan  escaped  him,  as  if  unconsciously.  Exhaustion,  rather 
than  repose,  was  signified  by  his  quiescence. 

In  another  part  of  the  house  lay  his  suffering  victim.  The 
mind  of  Mary  Clarkson  wandered  in  all  the  misdirected  heat  of 
delirium,  the  result  equally  of  mental  and  physical  pain.  By  her 
side  sat  Flora  Middleton.  The  sex  of  the  poor  victim  had  been 
made  known  to  the  mistress  of  the  mansion,  through  the  medium 
of  the  servants,  by  the  timely  management  of  Watson  Gray  ;  but 
that  wily  associate  of  the  outlaw  chief,  had  not  omitted  the  op- 
portunity which  it  afforded  him  of  turning  the  event  to  favorable 
account  in  behalf  of  the  man  he  served  so  faithfully. 

"  It's  a  poor  girl,"  he  said  to  the  servant  to  whom  his  infor- 
mation was  intrusted,  "  that  followed  Colonel  Conway  from  the 
Congaree,  and  when  he  and  his  brother  fought  by  the  vault, 
which  they  did  about  your  young  mistress,  the  poor  girl  jumped 
between  them  to  save  the  colonel,  and  got  her  hurts  that  way. 
She  is  only  dressed  in  boy's  clothes  that  she  mightn't  be  known 
among  the  troop." 

The  falsehood  found  its  way  to  the  ears  for  which  it  was  in- 
tended ;  and  the  proud  heart  of  Flora  Middleton  rose  in  indigna- 
tion as  she  heard  it. 

"  But  the  wretched  woman  is  yet  a  woman,  and  she's  suffer- 
ing," was  the  humane  sentiment  with  which  she  silenced  the 
communicative  negro.  "  She  is  a  woman,  whatever  may  be  her 
vices,  and  I  will  see  to  her  myself." 

And  when  she  beheld  her,  she  could  no  longer  scorn  the  frail 
victim  of  a  misplaced  affection  and  a  reckless  lust. 

Emaciated  and  wan,  the  miserable  girl  sang  and  gibbered 
with  all  the  unconcern  of  the  confirmed  maniac ;  and  prated  at 
intervals  of  the  chidish  follies  which  are  usully  the  prime  sources 
of  pleasure  to  the  child.  She  spoke  of  girlish  wants  and  girlish 
pleasures,  and  ran  on  in  a  manner  of  inconsiderate  merriment, 
which  was  of  all  things  the  most  mournful  and.  heart-sickening 
to  contemplate.  But  she  seemed  neither  to  see  nor  hear.  It  was 
only  when  the  surgeon  pressed  his  hand  upon  the  wounded  skull 


A   MIDNIGHT   ATTACK  —  A   PRISONER.  261 

that  she  lapsed  away  into  utter  silence,  which  was  accompanied 
by  a  vacant  stare  upon  the  operator,  so  hideous  in  the  deathlike 
imbecility  which  it  expressed,  as  to  imike  Flora  shudder  and 
turn  away  with  a  sickeningjfciorror  that  took  from  her  all  strength 
to  serve  or  to  assist.  It  was  only  when  the  surgeon  had  finished 
the  operations  which  he  deemed  necessary;  that  she  could  re- 
sume strength  to  return  to  the  chamber,  and  the  patient  then 
lay  in  a  condition  of  stupor  that  secured  her  effectual  silence  for 
the  time. 

Not  a  word  now  escaped  her  lips ;  but  a  choking  sob  occa- 
sionally heaved  her  bosom  as  if  with  convulsion ;  and  amply  de- 
noted the  "  perilous  stuff"  which  lay  thick  and  deadly  about  her 
heart.  Flora  Middleton  sat  beside  her,  with  one  female  servant 
in  attendance,  when  all  the  rest  had  retired.  Her  personal 
presence  was  not  necessary,  but  she  could  not  sleep  on  account 
of  the  troublesome  and  humiliating  fancies  which  possessed  her, 
on  the  subject  of  the  story  which  she  had  heard  in  regard  to 
Clarence  Conway.  That  she  should  have  surrendered  her  best 
affections  to  one  who  could  thus  abuse  and  degrade  the  warmest, 
if  not  the  loftiest  devotion  of  her  sex,  was,  indeed,  a  subject  of 
humiliating  consideration  to  a  spirit  so  proud  as  hers ;  and  it  was 
with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  the  sudden  sharp  shot  of  the  as- 
sault, and  the  wild  ringing  of  the  midnight  trumpet,  while 
it  denoted  the  approach  of  unexpected  conflict,  disturbed  the 
train  of  painful  thought  into  which  her  mind  had  unavoidably 
fallen. 

The  tumult  without  was  as  wild  and  terrible  as  it  had  been 
sudden.  A  moment  of  the  deepest  midnight  stillness  had  been 
succeeded  by  one  of  the  fiercest  uproar.  Excited,  rather  than 
alarmed,  she  hurried  from  the  chamber,  and  encountered  at  the 
head  of  the  stairway  the  person  of  Lord  Hawdon,  who  was  joined 
a  moment  after  by  "Watson  Gray.  His  lordship  saw  her,  and  a 
smile,  which  was  scarcely  one  of  good  nature,  overspread  his 
countenance  as  he  remarked — 

"  Your  rebel  colonel  is  busy  among  us,  Miss  Middleton ; — he 
is  a  bold  fellow,  but  will  pay  for  his  rashness." 

"  I  told  your  lordship  that  you  would  soon  find  him,  but  he  is 
even  more  easy  oilpiecess  than  I  thought  him,"  was  the  reply 


262  THE   SCOUT. 

of  the  maiden,  who,  at  the  moment,  had  forgotten  everything 
that  she  had  ever  heard  to  her  lover's  disadvantage,  and  now 
glowed  with  all  the  natural  pride  of  one  who  joyed  in  the  cour- 
age of  her  countryman, 

"  I  trust  that  he  will  wait  to  receive  my  acknowledgments 
for  his  early  attentions ;"  was  the  answer  of  his  lordship,  uttered 
through  his  closed  teeth,  as  he  hurried  down  the  steps. 

But  the  wish  of  his  lordship  was  not  gratified.  The  alarm 
was  not  of  long  continuance,  though,  in  the  brief  space  of  time 
which  it  had  occupied,  it  had  been  sharp  in  equal  degree,  and 
the  surprise  of  the  camp  had  been  made  with  as  much  success 
as  its  audacity  deserved.  The  sentries  had  been  hewn  down  at 
their  posts,  one  patrol  entirely  cut  off,  and  a  party  of  the  as- 
sailants, penetrating  to  the  head  of  the  avenue,  had  cut  in  pieces 
a  half  score  of  Hessians  before  they  had  well  started  from  their 
slumbers.  The  whole  affair  had  been  the  work  of  a  few  mo- 
ments only,  and  when  the  British  were  in  condition  to  meet  the 
invader,  there  was  no  enemy  to  be  found.  They  had  dissipated 
with  the  flexibility  of  the  atmosphere,  in  the  obscure  haze  of 
which  they  completely  vanished  from  the  eyes  of  the  pursuing 
and  vengeance-breathing  soldiery. 

In  the  lower  hall  of  the  mansion,  Lord  Hawdon  received  the 
report  of  the  officers  of  the  night,  to  whom,  it  may  be  supposed, 
his  countenance  was  in  no  respect  gracious.  Naturally  stern  of 
temper,  the  annoyance  was  calculated  to  increase  its  severity, 
and  add  to  the  habitual  harshness  of  his  manner.  He  stood 
against  the  chimney -place,  as  the  several  officers  in  command 
made  their  appearance,  and  his  keen  eyes  examined  them  with 
frowning  expression  from  beneath  the  thick  bushy  brows,  which 
were  now  contracted  into  one  overhanging  roof,  and  almost  con- 
cealed the  orbs  in  turn  from  the  sight  of  those  whom  they  sur- 
veyed. Sharp,  indeed,  was  the  examination  which  followed, 
and  bitter,  though  brief,  were  the  various  comments  which  his 
lordship  made  on  the  several  events  of  the  evening  as  they  were 
reported  in  his  hearing. 

"Majoribanks,"  said  he,  "you  were  in  charge  of  the  camp 
appointments  for  the  night.  You  will  make  your  full  returns  at 
morning  of  the  officers  on  duty ;  and  let  them  report  to  you  the 


A   MIDNIGHT    ATTACK A    PRISONER.  263 

names  of  the  last  relief.     What  is  the  report  you  make  of  the 
camp  now  ?     What  is  the  killed,  wounded,  and  missing  ?" 

The  portly,  fine- looking,  and  truly  noble  officer  whom  he  ad- 
dressed, answered  with  equal  ease  and  dignity. 

"  The  returns  are  ready  for  your  lordship  now,"  placing  the 
papers  in  his  hands— "this,  your  lordship  will  perceive,  is  the 
list  of  officers  and  guards  on  duty ;  and  here  is  a  brief  sum- 
mary of  the  killed  and  wounded,  which  are  found.  It  will  need 
an  inspection  of  the  rolls  of  companies  to  ascertain  the  missing, 
and  this  can  not  be  so  well  done  till  daylight." 

"  'Tis  well,  sir — you  are  prompt  and  ready.  I  wish  your  of- 
ficers of  the  night  had  known  their  duty  so  well."  And  with 
this  speech  he  bestowed  upon  the  surrounding  group  a  single 
glance  of  vexation  and  reproof. 

"Humph!"  he  exclaimed  as  he  read — "Can  it  be  possible! 
So  many  slain  outright ;  good  fellows  too — not  apt  to  sleep  upon 
their  posts"  —  and  he  enumerated  with  his  voice  and  finger — 
•'  Fergus,  Childs,  Spohrs,  Dilworth,  Moony,  Wagner — fourteen 
slain  and  as  many  wounded  !  D — nation  !  These  rascals  must 
have  been  drunk,  or  there  has  been  treachery  !" 

He  crumpled  the  memorandum  in  his  hands,  and,  utterly  un- 
able to  control  his  indignation,  flung  it  from  him,  and  trampled  it 
on  the  floor. 

"  By  heavens,  these  beggarly  rebels  will  learn  to  walk  by 
noonday  into  our  camps,  and  hew  and  havoc  where  they  think 
proper.  The  British  name  will  be  a  subject  for  their  mockery ; 
and,  as  for  our  valor ! — for  shame,  for  shame,  gentlemen  ;  what 
will  be  thought  of  this  proceeding  1  what  report  shall  I  make  of 
this  conduct  to  our  king  ?" 

He  strode,  unanswered,  to  and  fro,  along  the  unoccupied  por- 
tion of  the  hall ;  the  officers,  under  his  rebuke,  looking  with 
downcast  eyes,  that  did  not  once  venture  to  meet  his  glance. 

"  And  what  of  the  enemy,  Majoribanks  1  Have  they  got  off 
in  utter  safety  ?  If  I  mistake  not,  I  heard  a  full  platoon  from 
the  grenadiers " 

"  We  have  found  but  one  dead  body,  your  lordship." 
"Indeed! — but  one  body.     Oh!   this  is  very  rare  success! 
They  will  fight  us  all  night,  and  every  night,  on  the  same 


264  THE  SCOUT. 

terms :"  and  his  lordship  laughed  outright  in  very  chagrin  and 
bitterness. 

"And  one  prisoner;" — continued  Majoribanks. 

"  Ah  : — one  prisoner !     Well,  you  hung  him,  did  you  ]" 

"  No,  your  lordship  :  we  did  not  hang  him ;"  was  the  cold  but 
respectful  answer  of  Majoribanks.  "  We  knew  not  that  such  a 
proceeding  would  be  either  proper  or  desirable." 

Rawdoii's  eyes  gleamed  with  a  savage  keenness  of  glance  on 
the  speaker,  as  he  replied — 

"  Ha !  you  did  not,  eh  ]  Well,  let  it  be  done  instantly  !  I 
will  answer  for  its  propriety.  Gray,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
the  scout,  who  stood  at  the  entrance,  "  see  to  it.  You  shall  be 
our  provost  for  the  occasion.  Find  out  the  nearest  tree — not  in 
sight  of  the  dwelling,  mark  me — and  let  the  rope  be  a  good 
one.  Let  him  be  hung  with  due  propriety." 

Majoribanks  turned  away  to  conceal  his  emotion,  while  Gray 
replied — 

"  May  it  please  your  lordship,  it  might  be  advisable  to  ex- 
amine the  person  before  hanging  him.  He  can  probably  give 
you  some  valuable  intelligence — something,  perhaps,  about 
'  Ninety-Six.' " 

"True,  true! — it  does  please  me.  Bring  him  before  us.  I 
will  examine  him  myself." 

An  officer  disappeared,  and  a  few  moments  only  had  elapsed, 
when,  conducted  by  a  file  of  soldiers,  our  old  associate  John 
Bannister  was  placed-before  the  British  commander. 


A  REPRIEVE  FROM  THE  GALLOWS.  265 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

A  REPRIEVE  FROM  THE  GALLOWS. 

.  THE  sturdy  boatman  of  the  Congaree  was  in  no  ways  daunt- 
ed when  dragged  into  that  imposing  presence.  On  the  contrary, 
his  person  seemed  to  have  risen  in  elevation  and  acquired  new 
erectness,  in  defiance  of  the  cords  which  secured  his  arms,  and 
in  spite  of  an  evident  halt  in  his  walk,  the  consequence  of  some 
injury  which  he  had  probably  sustained  in  the  melee  which  had 
just  taken  place.  An  easy  but  not  offensive  smile  was  upon  his 
countenance  as  he  entered,  and  though  erect  and  manly,  there 
was  nothing  insolent  or  ostentatious  in  his  carriage.  He  bowed 
his  head  respectfully,  first  to  his  lordship  and  then  to  the  sur- 
rounding officers,  and  having  advanced  almost  to  the  centre  of 
the  room,  paused  in  waiting  and  without  a  word.  Rawdon  sur- 
veyed his  person  with  little  interest,  and  was  evidently  annoyed 
by  the  coolness,  deliberation,  and  conscious  dignity  of  the  wood- 
man's bearing. 

"  Who  are  you,  fellow  1"  he  demanded. 

'•  My  name's  John  Bannister,  your  lordship.  I'm  a  sort  of 
scouting  serjeant,  when  I'm  in  the  woods,  for  Col.  Conway's 
rigiment ;  but  with  my  hands  hitched  behind  me,  jest  now,  I 
don't  feel  as  if  I  was  anybody." 

"  Your  sense  of  insignificance  is  more  likely  to  be  increased 
than  diminished,  fellow  !  Speak  up  and  tell  us  what  you  know. 
Your  master  !  Where  is  he  now  ?" 

"Well,  your  lordship,  if  I've  rightly  lamed  my  catechism, 
he's  looking  down  upon  us  now,  and  listening  to  every  word 
that's  said." 

"  See  to  the  doors  and  windows,"  exclaimed  E/awdon  hastily, 
as  he  put  his  hand  upon  his  sword,  while  his  flashing  eyes 
turned  to  the  windows  of  the  apartment :  — "  who  knows  but  we 

12 


266  THE   SCOUT. 

may  have  another  visit  from  this  audacious  rebel.  He  has  had 
every  encouragement  to  come  again." 

A  silent  chuckle  of  the  scout  attested  his  satisfaction  at  the 
mistake  into  which  he  had  led  his  captor,  in  consequence  of  his 
peculiar  modes  of  speech  and  thinking. 

"  What  does  the  fellow  mean  by  this  insolence  1  Speak,  sirrah, 
ere  I  send  you  to  the  halbircls  !" 

"  And  if  your  lordship  did,  I  reckon  I  should  speak  pretty 
much  as  I  do  now.  Your  lordship  asked  me  where  my  master 
is ;  and  as  I  know  no  master  but  God  Almighty,  I  reckon  I 
answered  no  more  than  rightly,  when  I  said  he  was  looking,  jest 
this  very  moment,  down  upon  our  proceeding.  By  the  catechis' 
I  was  always  taught  that  he  was  pretty  much  here,  thar,  and 
every  whar ; — a  sort  of  scout  for  the  whole  univarse,  that  don't 
want  for  any  sleep,  and  never  made  a  false  count  of  the  number 
sent  out  agin  him " 

"Is  the  fellow  mad?"  demanded  Rawdon,  with  impatience, 
interrupting  the  woodman,  who  seemed  very  well  disposed  to 
expatiate  longer  upon  this  copious  subject.  "Who  knows  any- 
thing of  this  fellow?" 

"  I  do,  your  lordship,"  whispered  Watson  Gray,  but  in  tones 
that  reached  the  ears  of  Bannister.  "  He's  the  same  person 
that  I  told  you  of  to-night — he's  the  famous  scout  that  Col. 
Cruger  offered  twenty  guineas  for,  for  stealing  his  horse." 

The  last  words  awakened  all  Bannister's  indignation,  which 
he  expressed  without  heeding  the  presence  in  which  he  stood. 

"  Look  you,  Watson  Gray,"  said  he,  "  that's  not  so  genteel, 
all  things  considerin' ;  and  I'll  look  to  you  to  answer  it  some 
day.  The  horse  was  a  fair  prize,  taken  from  the  enemy's 
quarters  at  the  resk  of  my  neck " 

"  That  risk  is  not  over,  scoundrel ;  and  that  you  may  be  made 
justly  sensible  of  it,  let  the  provost  take  him  hence  to  a  tree. 
Let  it  be  done  at  once.  We  shall  save  Cruger  his  twenty 
guineas." 

Here  Watson  Gray  again  whispered  in  the  ears  of  his  lord- 
ship. 

"  Ah,  true,"  said  the  latter :  then,  addressing  Bannister,  he 
asked  in  accents  of  unusual  mildness :  — 


A   REPRIEVE   FROM   THE   GALLOWS.  267 

Vl 

_"  Are  you  willing  to  save  your  life,  my  good  fellow  1  Speak 
quickly,  for  we  have  little  time  to  waste,  and  you  have  none  to 
spare." 

"  Well,  I  reckon,  your  lordship,  as  I'm  a  good  fellow,  I 
oughtn't  to  be  afeard  either  to  live  or  to  die ;  though,  if  the 
choice  is  given  me,  living's  my  preference  at  this  present.  I 
might  have  a  different  choice  next  week,  or  even  to-morrow, 
for  anything  I  know  jest  now." 

"  Too  many  words  by  half,  sirrah.  Hear  me  :  you  can  save 
your  life  by  proving  yourself  honest  once  in  a  way.  Speak  the 
truth  to  all  the  questions  I  ask  you,  and  no  prevarication." 

"  I'll  try,  your  lordship,"  said  the  scout  quietly,  as  he  turned 
a  huge  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth  and  voided  it  behind  him 
on  the  floor,  with  a  coolness  which  did  not  lessen  his  lordship's 
indignation. 

"  How  many  men  were  with  your  colonel  in  this  assault  to- 
night ?" 

"  Well,  about  thirty  men,  I  reckon — which  wa'n't  more  than 
half  his  force  :  t'other  half  played  with  the  sentinels  along  the 
woods  above." 

"  Thirty  men !  Was  ever  heard  the  like  !  Thirty  men  to 
beat  up  the  quarters  of  a  British  general,  and  ride  over  a  whole 
army  of  two  thousand  men !" 

"  There's  more,  I  reckon,  your  lordship,"  said  Gray,  in  a 
whisper,  "  Colonel  Conway  sometimes  has  a  whole  regiment, 
and  I've  seldom  known  him  with  less  than  a  hundred." 

"  Hark  ye,  fellow,  if  you  are  found  in  a  falsehood,  that  instant 
I  send  you  to  the  gallows,"  exclaimed  Rawdon,  sternly,  ad- 
dressing the  scout. 

"  And  if  your  lordship  believes  a  man  that  does  his  talking  in 
a  whisper,  in  preference  to  him  that  speaks  out,  it's  likely  you'll 
send  all  your  prisoners  thar.  It's  no  use  for  me  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  when  there's  a  man  behind  you  that's  been  known  on  the 
Congaree  ever  since  I  was  knee-high  to  a  splinter,  to  be  a  born 
liar.  Ef  he's  let,  in  a  whisper,  to  outtalk  a  man  that  does  his 
talking  outright,  and  like  a  man,  aboveboard,  then  there's  but 
little  use  in  my  opening  my  mouth  at  all.  Ef  you  believe  him, 
you  can't  believe  me — though,  to  speak  a  truth  that  there's  no 


268 


THE  SCOUT. 


denying,  I  ain't  very  willing  to  tell  your  lordship  anything 
about  the  consarns  of  the  troop.  I'm  jub'ous  ef  that  ain't 
treasonable."  . 

"  You  are  very  scrupulous  all  at  once,  my  fine  fellow — but, 
whether  you  are  believed  or  not,  we  shall  still  hear  what  you 
have  to  say.  Does  the  garrison  at  '  Ninety-Six'  hold  out  ?" 

"  I  reckon  not  now.  It  did  yesterday  morning,  but  'twas 
mighty  hard  pushed  then ;  and  as  we  caught  all  your  messen- 
gers, and  got  all  your  letters  to  Colonel  Cruger,  I'm  thinking 
he's  given  in,  seeing  there  was  no  sort  of  chance  of  your  lord- 
ship's coming. 

"  D — nation  !  I  sent  two  messengers  since  Sunday." 

"  I  reckon  your  lordship's  count  ain't  altogether  right ;  for  I 
myself  caught  three.  I  choked  one  chap  till  he  emptied  his 
throat  of  a  mighty  small  scrap  of  intelligence  that  he  had  curled 
up  like  a  piece  of  honest  pigtail  in  his  jaws  ;  and  we  physicked 
another  before  he  surrendered  the  screw-bullet  that  he  swal- 
lowed. The  third  one  gin  up  his  paper  like  a  good  fellow, 
j'ined  our  troop,  and  helped  us  powerful  well  in  the  little  brush 
we  made  in  the  avenue  to-night.  He's  a  big  fellow,  a  Dutch- 
man by  birth,  that  come  out  of  the  forks  of  Edisto.  His  name's 
a  mighty  hard  one  to  spell,  and  I  can't  say  that  I  altogether 
remember  it ;  but  he  showed  us  five  guineas  that  your  lordship 
gin  him  to  go  to  *  Ninety-Six,'  and  I  reckon  he'd  ha'  gone  if  we 
hadn't  caught  him.  He  fou't  powerful  well  to-night,  for  I 
watched  him." 

John  Bannister  was  evidently  not  the  person  from  whom 
much  intelligence  could  be  extracted,  though  he  was  quite  liberal 
in  yielding  that  which  it  gave  his  lordship  little  pleasure  to 
hear.  Every  word  which  he  uttered  seemed  to  be  peculiarly 
chosen  to  mortify  his  captors.  Not  that  the  worthy  scout  had 
any  such  intention,  for  he  well  knew  the  danger  to  himself  of 
any  such  proceeding ;  and,  as  we  have  said  before,  his  manner, 
though  loftier  than  usual,  was  unobtrusive,  and  certainly  never 
intended  anything  like  insolence.  His  free  speech  came  from 
his  frank  nature,  which  poured  forth  the  honest  feelings  of  his 
mind  without  much  restraint,  and  utterly  regardless  of  the  situ* 
ation  in  which  he  stood.  He  was  just  sufficiently  cautious  to 


A   REPRIEVE   PROM   THE   GALLOWS.  269 

baffle  his  examiners  on  every  subject,  the  truth  of  which  might 
affect  unfavorably  the  troop  and  the  service  in  which  it  was 
engaged.  Rawdon  soon  discerned  the  character  of  the  person 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal ;  and,  provoked  beyond  patience  by 
the  annoying  detail  the  scout  had  given  of  the  capture  of  his 
three  messengers,  he  thus  summarily  cut  short  the  conference  : 

"  You  are  a  good  scout,  John  Bannister,  and  your  loss,  I  have 
no  doubt,  will  be  severely  felt  by  your  leader.  Provost,  take 
him  to  the  end  of  the  lane,  give  him  three  minutes  for  prayer, 
and  then  hang  him  to  the  tallest  tree  in  front  of  the  avenue. 
Let  him  hang  till  daylight,  that  the  Irish  regiments  may  see 
and  take  warning  from  the  spectacle.  It  may  cure  a  few  of 
them  of  the  disease  of  desertion,  which  is  so  apt  to  afflict  so 
many.  Go,  my  good  Bannister,  my  provost  will  see  to  your 
remaining  wants.  I  think  your  colonel  will  feel  your  loss  very 
much." 

"  I'm  jest  now  of  the  same  opinion,  your  lordship,"  replied  the 
scout,  composedly  ;  "  but  I'm  not  thinking  he's  so  nigh  losing  me 
altogether.  I  don't  think  my  neck  in  so  much  danger  yet, 
because  I  reckon  your  lordship  won't  be  so  venturesome  as  to 
hang  up  a  prisoner-of-war,  taken  in  an  honest  scrimmage." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  your  opinion.  We  differ  !  Take  him  hence, 
Provost,  and  do  as  I  bid  you.  Let  it  be  done  at  once.  A  short 
shrift  saves  many  unpleasant  reflections." 

Such  was  the  cool,  stern  decision  of  his  lordship,  to  whose 
haughty  mind  the  sang  froid  of  Bannister  was  eminently 
insulting. 

"I  would  jest  like  to  let  your  lordship  know  before  I  leave 

you "  was  the  beginning  of  another  speech  of  Bannister's, 

which  the  angry  gesture  of  B-awdon  did  not  suffer  him  to  finish. 
The  provost  and  his  attendants  seized  on  the  prisoner,  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  lifted  finger  of  his  lordship,  and  were  about  to  hurry 
him,  still  speaking,  from  the  apartment,  when  they  were  stopped 
at  the  door  by  the  sudden  entrance  of  Flora  Middleton. 

"  Stay  !"  she  exclaimed,  addressing  the  officer — "  stay,  till  I 
have  spoken  with  his  lordship." 

Rawdon  started  back  at  beholding  her,  and  could  not  refrain 
from  expressing  his  surprise  at  her  presence. 


270  THE  SCOUT. 

"At  this  time  of  the  night,  Miss  Middleton,  and  here  ?" 

"  Very  improper  conduct,  your  lordship  would  intimate,  for  a 
young  lady ;  but  the  circumstances  must  excuse  the  proceeding. 
I  come  to  you,  sir,  in  behalf  of  this  poor  man,  who  is  your  pris- 
oner, and  whom  I  understand  you  are  about  to  execute,  in  viola- 
tion of  the  laws  of  humanity,  and,  as  I  believe,  the  laws  of  war." 

His  lordship  was  evidently  annoyed. 

"  You  have  chosen  a  very  unnecessary  labor,  Miss  Middleton, 
and  pardon  -me  if  I  think  a  very  unbecoming  one.  I  may  be 
permitted,  surely,  to  know  what  the  laws  of  war  require,  and 
greatly  regret  that  Miss  Middleton  can  not  believe  me  suffi- 
ciently well  informed  in  regard  to  those  of  humanity." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  lord,  if,  in  my  excited  emotions,  my  words 
should  happen  to  offend.  I  do  not  mean  offence.  I  would  not 
intrude  upon  a  scene  like  this,  and  can  not  think  that  my  inter- 
position to  save  life,  and  to  prevent  murder,  can  properly  be 
called  an  unbecoming  interference." 

"  Murder !"  muttered  his  lordship  through  his  closed  teeth, 
while  —  as  if  to  prevent  his  frowns  from  addressing  themselves 
to  the  fair  intruder — he  was  compelled  to  avert  his  face. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  murder ;  for  I  know  this  man  to  be  as  worthy 
and  honest  a  citizen  as  ever  lived  on  the  Congaree.  He  has 
always  been  my  friend  and  the  friend  of  the  family.  He  has 
never  avowed  his  loyalty  to  the  king — never  taken  protection; 
but,  from  the  first,  has  been  in  arms,  under  either  Pickens  or 
Sumter,  in  opposition  to  his  majesty.  The  fate  of  war  throws 
him  into  your  hands " 

"  And  he  must  abide  it,  lady.  He  has  been  such  a  consistent 
rebel,  according  to  your  own  showing,  that  he  well  deserves  his 
fate.  Provost,  do  your  duty  !" 

"  My  lord,  my  lord,  can  it  be  that  you  will  not  grant  my 
prayer  —  that  you  will  not  spare  him?" 

"  It  would  give  me  pleasure  to  grant  any  application  to  one 
so  fair  and  friendly,  but " 

"  Oh,  deal  not  in  this  vain  language  at  such  a  time,  my 
lord.  Do  not  this  great  wrong.  Let  not  your  military  pride 
seduce  you  into  an  inhumanity  which  you  will  remember  in  after 
days  with  dread  and  sorrow.  Already  they  charge  you  with 


A  REPRIEVE  FROM  THE  GALLOWS.  271 

blood  wantonly  shed  at  Camden — too  much  blood — the  blood 
of  the  old  and  young — of  the  gray-headed  man  and  the  beard- 
less boy  alike.  But,  I  believe  it  not,  my  lord — no  !  no  !  Turn 
not  away  from  me  in  anger — I  believe  it  not — I  would  not 
wish  to  believe  it." 

"  Too  much,  too  much !"  murmured  Majoribanks,  as  he  re- 
garded the  fair  speaker,  and  saw  the  dark  spot  turn  to  crimson 
on  the  brow  of  the  stern  and  savage  captain.  He  well  perceived, 
whatever  might  have  been  his  hopes  of  her  pleading  before,  that 
her  last  allusion  to  the  Camden  massacres  had  spoiled  the  effect 
of  all. 

"Your  entreaty  is  in  vain,  Miss  Middleton.  The  man  is 
doomed.  He  shall  be  an  example  to  warn  others  against  shoot- 
ing down  sentinels  at  midnight." 

"No!  no!  Be  not  inflexible — spare  him;  on  my  knees,  I 
implore  you,  my  lord.  I  have  known  him  long,  and  always 
worthily  ;  he  is  my  friend,  and  a  noble-hearted  creature.  Send 
not  such  a  fellow  to  the  gallows ;  send  the  ruffian,  the  murderer, 
the  spy,  but  not  a  worthy  man  like  this." 

"  Rise,  Miss  Middleton ;  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  you  kneel, 
without  succeeding  in  your  prayer,  either  to  God  or  mortal.'' 

"  You  grant  it,  then !"  she  exclaimed  eagerly,  as  he  raised  her 
from  the  floor. 

"  Impossible  !     The  man  must  die." 

She  recoiled  from  his  hands,  regarded  him  with  a  silent  but 
searching  expression  of  eye,  then  turned  to  the  spot  where  John 
Bannister  stood.  The  worthy  scout  no  longer  remained  un- 
moved. Her  interposition  had  softened  the  poor  fellow,  whom 
the  threatening  danger  from  his  foes  had  only  strengthened  and 
made  inflexible  and  firm.  He  now  met  her  glance  of  bitterness 
and  grief,  while  a  smile  mingled  sweetly  upon  his  face  with  the 
big  tear  which  was  swelling  in  his  eye. 

"God  bless  you,  my  dear  miss  Flora! — you're  an  angel,  if 
ever  there  was  one  on  such  a  place  as  airth ;  and  I'm  jest  now 
thankful  to  God  for  putting  me  in  this  fix,  ef  it's  only  that  I 
might  know  how  airnestly  and  sweetly  he  could  send  his  angel 
to  plead  in  favor  of  a  rough  old  Congaree  boatman  like  me. 
But  don't  you  be  scared,  for  they  can't  do  me  any  hurt  after  all ; 


272  THE   SCOUT. 

and  if  his  lordship  had  only  listened  to  me  a  leetle  while  longer 
at  first,  he'd  ha'  been  able  to  have  said  the  handsome  thing,  and 
consented  to  all  you  axed  him.  Look  here,  my  lord,  'twon't  do 
to  hang  me,  unless  you'd  like  to  lose  a  better  man  in  the  bar- 
gain." 

A  look  of  inquiry  was  all  that  his  lordship  deigned  the 
speaker,  who,  turning  to  the  provost,  begged  him  to  take  his 
grasp  from  his  shoulder. 

"  I  can't  run,  you  see,  ef  I  wanted  to,  and  somehow  I  never 
could  talk  to  my  own  liking,  when  I  had  the  feel  of  an  inemy's 
hand  upon  me." 

"  Speak  up,  fellow,"  said  Majoribanks,  who  saw  the  increas- 
ing vexation  of  Rawdon,  "  and  tell  his  lordship  what  you  mean." 

"  Well,  the  long  and  short  of  the  matter's  this,  your  lordship. 
If  you  look  at  your  roll,  I  reckon  you'll  find  a  handsome  young 
cappin,  or  mou't-be  a  major,  among  your  missing.  I  made  him 
a  prisoner  myself,  at  the  head  of  the  avenue,  on  the  very  first 
charge  to-night,  and  I  know  they've  got  him  safe  among  my 
people ;  and  his  neck  must  be  a  sort  of  make-weight  agin  mine. 
I  ain't  of  much  'count  anyhow,  but  the  '  Congaree  Blues'  has  a 
sort  of  liking  for  me,  and  they  can  find  any  quantity  of  rope  and 
tree  when  there's  a  need  for  it.  If  you  hang  me,  they'll  hang 
him,  and  your  lordship  can  tell  best  whether  he's  worth  looking 
after  or  not.  It's  a  thing  for  calculation  only." 

"  Is  this  the  case  ?  Is  there  any  officer  missing  1"  demanded 
Rawdon,  with  a  tone  of  suppressed  but  bitter  feeling. 

"  Two,  your  lordship,"  replied  the  lieutenant  of  the  night — 
"  Major  Penfield  and  Captain  Withers." 

"  They  should  hang  !  They  deserve  it !"  exclaimed  Eawdon; 
but  an  audible  murmur  from  the  bottom  of  the  hall,  warned  him 
of  the  danger  of  trying  experiments  upon  the  temper  of  troops 
who  had  just  effected  a  painful  forced  march,  and  had  before 
them  a  continuation  of  the  same,  and  even  severer  duties. 

"  Take  the  prisoner  away,  and  let  him  be  well  guarded,"  said 
his  lordship. 

Flora  Middleton^  relieved  by  this  order,  gave  but  a  single 
glance  of  satisfaction  to  the  woodman,  as  she  glided  out  of  the 
apartment. 


A   REPRIEVE   FROM   THE   GALLOWS.  273 

With  the  dawn  of  day  the  British  army  was  under  arms,  and 
preparing  to  depart.  Our  heroine,  who  had  enjoyed  no  rest 
during  the  night,  and  had  felt  no  desire  for  it,  under  the  nume- 
rous anxieties  and  painful  feelings  which  filled  her  heart,  took 
her  station  in  the  balcony,  where  she  could  witness  all  their 
movements.  And  no  more  imposing  array  had  ever  gratified 
her  eyes.  Lord  Rawdon  was  then  in  command  of  the  very  6lite 
of  the  British  army.  The  hardy  and  well-tried  provincial  loy- 
alists formed  the  nucleus  of  the  efficient  force  of  near  three  thou- 
sand men,  which  he  commanded ;  and  these,  many  of  them  well 
mounted,  and  employed  as  dragoons  and  riflemen  at  pleasure, 
were,  in  reality,  the  chief  reliance  of  his  government.  The 
Hessians  had  been  well  thinned  by  the  harassing  warfare  of  two 
seasons,  and  were  neither  numerous  nor  daring ;  but  nothing 
could  exceed  the  splendid  appearance  of  the  principal  force 
which  he  brought  with  him  from  Charleston,  consisting  of  three 
full  regiments,  fresh  from  Ireland,  with  all  the  glow  of  European 
health  upon  their  cheeks,  full-framed,  strong  and  active  ;  martial 
in  their  carriage,  bold  in  action,  and  quite  as  full  of  vivacity  as 
courage. 

Flora  Middleton  beheld  them  as  they  marched  forward  be- 
neath her  eyes,  with  mingling  sentiments  of  pity  and  admiration. 
Poor  fellows  !  They  were  destined  to  be  terribly  thinned  and 
humbled  by  the  sabre  of  the  cavalry,  the  deadly  aim  of  the  rifle, 
and  that  more  crushing  enemy  of  all,  the  pestilential  malaria  of 
the  southern  swamps.  How  many  of  that  glowing  and  nume- 
rous cavalcade  were  destined  to  leave  their  bones  along  the 
banks  of  the  Wateree  and  Santee,  in  their  long  and  arduous 
marchings  and  counter-marchings,  and  in  the  painful  and  peril- 
ous flight  which  followed  to  the  Eutaws,  and  from  the  Eutaws 
to  Charleston.  On  this  flight,  scarce  two  months  after,  fifty  of 
these  brave  fellows  dropped  down,  dead  in  the  ranks,  in  a  single 
day ;  the  victims  of  fatigue,  heat  and  a  climate  which  mocked 
equally  their  muscle,  their  courage,  and  vivacity ;  and  which 
not  even  the  natives  at  that  season  could  endure  without  peril. 
The  brave  and  generous  Majoribanks  himself — the  most  honor- 
able and  valiant  of  enemies — little  did  Flora  Middleton  fancy, 
as  he  passed  his  sword-point  to  the  earth  in  courteous  salute, 

12* 


• 

274  THE  SCOUT. 

and  smiled  his  farewell,  while  marching  at  the  head  of  his  bat- 
talion beneath  the  balcony,  that  he,  too,  was  one  of  those  who 
should  find  his  grave  along  the  highways  of  Carolina,  immedi- 
ately after  the  ablest  of  his  achievements  at  Eutaw,  where  to 
him,  in  particular,  was  due  the  rescue  of  the  British  lion  from 
the  claws  of  the  now  triumphant  eagle. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

NINETY-SIX  —  A   FLIGHT    BY   NIGHT. 

CLARENCE  CONWAY,  with  a  single  exception,  had  every  rea- 
son to  be  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  expedition.  He  had 
lost  but  one  man  slain ;  and  but  two  were  missing.  One  of  these, 
as  we  have  seen,  was  John  Bannister ;  the  other  was  the  un- 
happy father  of  Mary  Clarkson.  The  reader  is  already  ap- 
prized of  the  situation  of  the  former ;  of  the  latter  neither  party 
had  any  present  knowledge.  Conway  was  utterly  ignorant, 
and  very  anxious  about  the  fate  of  his  trusty  agent.  The  loss 
of  John  Bannister  could  not  be  compensated  to  him,  by  any  suc- 
cesses, whether  as  a  soldier  or  a  man.  He  was  incomparable 
as  a  scout ;  almost  as  much  so  in  personal  conflict ;  superior  in 
judgment  in  most  matters  relating  to  partisan  warfare  ;  but,  over 
all,  he  was  the  friend,  the  ever-faithful,  the  fond ;  having  an 
affection  for  his  leader  like  that  of  Jonathan  of  old,  surpassing 
the  love  of  woman. 

Clarence  Conway  did  full  justice  to  this  affection.  He  loitered 
and  lingered  long  that  night  before  leaving  the  field  of  conflict, 
in  the  hope  to  see  the  trusty  fellow  reappear ;  and  slow  indeed 
were  his  parting  footsteps  when,  at  the  dawn  of  day,  he  set  his 
little  band  in  motion  for  the  Saluda.  This  measure  was  now 
become  one  of  stern  necessity.  He  had  done  all  that  could  be 
required  of  him,  and  much  more  than  had  been  expected.  It 
was  not  supposed  that  with  a  force  so  small  as  his  he  could  pos- 
sibly occasion  any  interruption  or  delay  in  the  progress  of  an 


NINETY-SIX — A   FLIGHT  BY  NIGHT.    '  275 

army  sueh  as  that  led  by  Rawdon ;  and  he  had  most  effectually 
performed  those  duties  along  the  Congaree  which  had  been 
done  by  Sumter  and  Marion  on  the  waters  of  the  Santee  below. 
Every  messenger  between  Rawdon.and  Ninety-Six  had  been 
cut  off;  and,  while  the  urgent  entreaties  of  Oruger,  having  com- 
mand of  the  latter  garrison,  had  failed  in  most  cases  to  reach  the 
ears  of  Rawdon,  the  despatches  of  the  latter,  promising  assistance, 
and  urging  the  former  to  hold  out,  had  been  invariably  inter- 
cepted. Nor  were  the  performances  of  the  gallant  young  parti- 
san limited  to  these  small  duties  only.  He  had,  in  concert 
with  Colonel  Butler,  a  famous  name  among  the  whigs  of  Ninety- 
Six,  given  a  terrible  chastisement  to  the  sanguinary  tory,  Cun- 
ningham, in  which  the  troop  of  the  latter  was  utterly  annihi- 
lated, and  their  leader  owed  his  escape  only  to  the  fleetness 
of  an  inimitable  steed.  But  these  events  belong  not  to  our 
story. 

With  a  sad  heart,  but  no  diminution  of  enterprise  or  spirit, 
Colonel  Conway  took  up  the  line  of  march  for  the  Saluda,  with 
the  purpose  of  joining  General  Greene  before  Ninety-Six ;  or, 
in  the  event  of  that  place  being  already  in  possession  of  the 
Americans,  of  extending  his  march  toward  the  mountains,  where 
General  Pickens  was  about  to  operate  against  the  Cherokee 
Indians. 

But  though  compelled  to  this  course  by  the  pressure  of  the 
British  army  in  his  rear,  his  progress  was  not  a  flight.  His  lit- 
tle band  was  so  compact,  and  so  well  acquainted  with  the  face 
of  the  country,  that  he  could  move  at  leisure  in  front  of  the  en- 
emy, and  avail  himself  of  every  opportunity  for  cutting  off  strag- 
glers, defeating  the  operations  of  foraging  parties,  and  baffling 
every  purpose  or  movement  of  the  British,  which  was  not  cov- 
ered by  a  detachment  superior  to  his  own.  Such  was  his  pur- 
pose, and  such,  to  a  certain  extent,  were  his  performances. 

But  Conway  was  soon  made  sensible  of  the  inefficiency  of  his 
force  to  contend  even  with  the  inferior  cavalry  of  the  enemy. 
These  were  only  inferior  in  quality.  In  point  of  numbers  they 
were  vastly  superior  to  the  Americans.  The  measures  which 
Rawclon  had  taken  to  mount  the  loyalists  in  his  army,  had,  to 
the  great  surprise  of  the  Americans,  given  him  a  superiority  in 


276  THE  SCOUT. 

this  particular,  which  was  equally  injurious  to  their  hopes  and 
unexpected  by  their  apprehensions.  The  march  of  the  British, 
though  urged  forward  with  due  diligence  by~*their  stern  com- 
mander, was,  at  the  same  time,  distinguished  by  such  "a  degree 
of  caution  as  effectually  to  discourage  Conway  in  his  attempts 
upon  it.  The  onslaught  of  the  previous  night  justified  the  pru- 
dence of  this  wary  general.  The  audacity  of  the  Americans 
was,  at  this  period,  everywhere  felt  and  acknowledged,  and  by 
none  more  readily  than  Rawdon.  His  advanced  guard  was  sent 
forward  in  treble  force :  his  provincial  riflemen  skirted  the 
woods  on  the  roadside  while  his  main  army  defiled  between,  and 
his  cavalry  scoured  the  neighboring  thickets  wherever  it  was 
possible  for  them  to  hide  a  foe.  Conway  was  compelled  to  con- 
sole himself  with  the  profitless  compliment  which  this  vigilance 
paid  to  his  spirit  and  address ;  and,  after  hovering  for  the  best 
part  of  a  day's  march  around  the  path  of  the  advancing  enemy, 
without  an  opportunity  to  inflict  a  blow,  he  reluctantly  pressed 
forward  with  increased  speed  for  Ninety-Six,  to  prepare  General 
Greene  for  the  coming  of  the  new  enemy.  Our  course  is  thither 
also. 

The  post  of  Ninety-Six  was  situated  on  the  crown  of  a  gentle 
but  commanding  eminence,  and  included  within  its  limits  the  vil- 
lage of  the  same  name.  This  name  was  that  of  the  county,  or 
district,  of  which  it  was  the  county-town.  Its  derivation  is 
doubtful ;  but  most  probably  it  came  from  its  being  ninety-six 
miles  from  Prince  George,  at  the  period  of  its  erection  the  fron- 
tier post  of  the  colony.  Its  history  is  one  of  great  local  interest. 
Originally  a  mere  stockade  for  the  defepce  of  the  settlers  against 
Indian  incursion,  it  at  length  became  the  scene  of  the  first  con- 
flicts in  the  southern  country,  and  perhaps  in  the  revolutionary 
war.  It  was  here  that,  early  in  1775,  the  fierce  domestic  strife 
first  began  between  the  whigs  and  tories  of  this  region; — a  re- 
gion beautiful  and  rich  by  nature,  and  made  valuable  by  art, 
which,  before  the  war  was  ended,  was  turned  into  something 
worse  than  a  howling  wilderness.  The  old  stockade  remained 
at  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution,  and  when  the  British  overran 
the  state,  they  garrisoned  the  place,  and  it  became  one  of  the 
most  valuable  of  that  cordon  of  posts  which  they  established 


NINETY-SIX  —  A   FLIGHT  BY  NIGHT.  277 

around  and  within  it.  Its  protection  and  security  were  of  the  last 
importance  to  their  interests.  It  enabled  them  to  maintain  a 
communication-with  the  Cherokees  and  other  Indians ;  and  to 
keep  in  check  the  whig  settlements  on  the  west  of  it,  while  it 
protected  those  of  the  loyalists,  north,  south,  and  east.  The 
most  advanced  post  which  they  occupied,  its  position  served  to 
strengthen  their  influence  in  Camden  and  Augusta,  and  assisted 
them  to  overawe  the  population  of  Georgia  and  North  Carolina. 
It  was  also,  for  a  long  period,  the  chief  depot  of  recruits ;  and 
drew,  but  too  successfully,  the  disaffected  youth  of  the  neighbor- 
hood into  the  royal  embrace. 

The  defences  of  this  place  had  been  greatly  strengthened  on 
the  advance  of  the  American  army.  Colonel  Cruger,  an  Ameri- 
can loyalist,  who  was  intrusted  with  the  command,  was  an  offi- 
cer of  energy  and  talents,  and  proved  himself  equally  adequate 
and  faithful  to  the  trust  which  was  reposed  in  him.  Calling  in 
the  aid  of  the  neighboring  slaves,  he  soon  completed  a  ditch 
around  his  stockade,  throwing  the  earth  parapet  height  upon  it, 
and  securing  it  within,  by  culverts  and  traverses,  to  facilitate 
the  communication  in  safety  between  his  various  points  of  de- 
fence. His  ditch  was  further  secured  by  an  abattis ;  and,  at 
convenient  distances  within  the  stockade,  he  erected  strong 
block-houses  of  logs. 

But  the  central  and  most  important  point  in  his  position,  lay 
in  a  work  of  considerable  strength — which  the  curious  in  anti- 
quarian research  and  history  may  see  to  this  day  in  a  state  of 
comparative  perfectness — called  the  "  Star  Battery."  It  stood 
on  the  southeast  of  the  village  which  it  effectually  commanded, 
was  in  shape  of  a  star,  having  sixteen  salient  and  returning  an- 
gles, and  communicated  by  lines  with  the  stockade.  In  this 
were  served  three  pieces  of  artillery,  which,  for  more  ready 
transition  to  any  point  of  danger,  were  worked  on  wheel  car- 
riages. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  village  arises  a  copious  fountain,  of 
several  eyes,  which  flows  through  a  valley.  From  this  rivulet 
the  garrison  obtained  its  supplies  of  water.  The  county  prison, 
lying  contiguous  to  this  valley  and  commanding  it.  was  also  forti- 
fied :  as  was  another  stockade  fort,  lying  on  the  opposite  side  of 


278  THE  SCOUT. 

the  valley,  of  considerable  strength,  and  having  within  it  a 
couple  of  block-houses  which  assisted  in  covering  the  communi- 
cation with  the  spring.  A  covert  way  led  from  the  town  to  the 
rivulet ;  and  the  whole,  including  the  village,  was  enclosed  by 
lines  of  considerable  extent  and  height.  To  defend  his  position, 
Cruger  had  a  select  force  of  six  hundred  men,  many  of  them  rifle- 
men of  the  first  quality,  and  not  a  few  of  them  fighting,  as  they 
well  knew,  with  halters  about  their  necks. 

Greene  commenced  the  siege  under  very  inauspicious  circum- 
stances, and  with  a  force  quite  inadequate  to  his  object.  This 
siege  formed  one  of  the  most  animated  and  critical  occurrences 
during  the  southern  war,  and  had  already  lasted  near  a  month, 
when  Colonel  Conway  joined  his  little  troop  to  the  force  of  the 
commander-in-chief.  The  available  army  of  Greene  scarcely 
exceeded  that  of  Cruger.  He  had  no  battering  cannon ;  and 
there  was  no  mode  of  succeeding  against  this  "  Star"  redoubt, 
which  was  the  chief  point  of  defence,  but  in  getting  over  or 
under  it.  Both  modes  were  resolved  upon.  Regular  approaches 
were  made,  and,  on  the  completion  of  the  first  parallel,  a  mine  was 
begun  under  cover  of  a  battery  erected  on  the  enemy's  right. 

This  work  was  prosecuted  day  and  night.  No  interval  Avas 
permitted.  One  party  labored,  while  a  second  slept,  and  a  third 
guarded  both.  The  sallies  of  the  besieged  were  constant  and 
desperate ;  not  a  night  passed  without  the  loss  of  life  011  both 
sides ;  but  the  work  of  the  Americans  steadily  advanced.  The 
second  parallel  was  at  length  completed,  the  enemy  summoned 
to  surrender,  and  a  defiance  returned  to  the  demand.  The  third 
parallel  was  then  begun,  and  its  completion  greatly  facilitated 
by  the  invention  of  a  temporary  structure  of  logs,  which,  from 
the  inventor's  name,  were  called  the  "  Maham  towers."  These 
were,  in  fact,  nothing  more  than  block-houses,  constructed  of 
heavy  timbers,  raised  to  a  height  superior  to  that  of  the  belea- 
guered fort,  and  filled  with  riflemen.  These  sharp-shooters  suc- 
ceeded, in  a  little  time,  in  driving  the  artillerists  of  the  garrison 
from  their  guns.  Hot  shot  were  tried  to  destroy  the  towers,  but 
the  greenness  of  the  wood,  in  June,  rendered  the  effort  unavail- 
ing. The  artillery  of  the  "  Star"  could  no  longer  be  used  by 
daylight,  and  by  night  it  was  little  to  be  dreaded. 


NINETY-SIX  —  A  FLIGHT  BY   NIGHT.  279 

The  garrison  was  now  greatly  straitened.  Their  provisions 
were  fast  failing  them ;  they  could  no  longer  venture  for  water 
to  the  rivulet.  Women  were  employed  for  this  purpose  by  day- 
light, and  men  in  women's  clothing  ;  and  by  night  they  received 
their  supplies  with  the  help  of  naked  negroes.  Other  means 
were  found  for  conveyance.  Burning  arrows  were  shot  into  the 
fort,  but  Cruger  promptly  threw  off  the  roofs  of  his  houses. 
An  attempt  was  made  to  destroy  the  abattis  by  fire,  but  drew 
down  death  on  every  one  of  the  daring  fellows  who  attempted 
it.  Beside  the  "  Maham  towers,"  one  of  which  was  within  thirty 
yards  of  the  enemy's  ditch,  the  besiegers  had  erected  several 
batteries  for  cannon.  One  of  these,  twenty  feet  in  height,  and 
within  one  hundred  and  forty  yards  of  the  "  Star,"  so  com- 
pletely commanded  it,  that  it  became  necessary  to  give  its  para- 
pet an  increased  elevation.  Bags  of  sand  were  employed  for 
this  purpose.  Through  these,  apertures  were  left  for  the  use  of 
small-arms ;  and  the  removal  of  the  sand-bags  by  night,  gave 
room  for  the  use  oft  the  artillery.  Bloody  and  deadly  was  the 
strife  that  ensued  for  ten  days,  between  the  combatants.  Dur- 
ing this  period  not  a  man  could  show  himself,  on  either  side, 
without  receiving  a  shot.  As  the  conflict  approached  its 
termination  it  seemed  to  acquire  increased  rancor;  and  an 
equal  desperation,  under  different  motives,  appeared  to  govern 
both  parties.  s. 

This  could  not  be  sustained  long  ;  and  the  fall  of  the  garrison 
was  at  hand.  Cruger  still  held  out  in  the  hope  of  succor,  for 
which  he  had  long  implored  his  commander.  He  had  sufficient 
reasons,  apart  from  the  natural  courage  which  the  good  soldier 
may  possess,  for  making  him  defend  his  post  to  the  very  last 
extremity.  There  were  those  within  its  walls  to  whom  no  in- 
dulgence would  have  been  extended  by  its  captors — men  whose 
odious  crimes  and  bloody  deeds  had  long  since  forfeited  the  se- 
curity even  of  those  laws  which  are  allowed  to  temper  with 
mercy  the  brutalities  of  battle.  But  their  apprehensions,  and 
the  resolution  of  Cruger,  could  not  long  supply  the  deficiencies 
•under  which  the  besieged  were  suffering.  Only  two  days  more 
were  allotted  them  for  the  retention  of  a  post  which  they  had  so 
gallantly  defended.  But  these  two  days  were  of  the  last  im- 


280  THE  SCOUT. 

portance  for  good  or  evil  to  the  two  parties.  In  this  period  the 
American  commander  was  apprized  of  the  circumstances  which 
rendered  it  necessary  that  the  place  should  be  carried  by  assault 
or  the  siege  raised.  The  arrival  of  Conway  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  B-awdon,  and  the  same  night  furnished  the  same  im- 
portant intelligence  to  Cruger.  But  for  this  intelligence  that 
very  night  must  have  witnessed  the  surrender  of  the  post. 

The  circumspection  and  close  watch  which  had  been  maintain- 
ed so  long  and  so  well  by  the  American  general  and  his  able 
subordinates,  and  which  had  kept  the  garrison  in  utter  ignorance 
of  the  march  of  B/awdon  from  Charleston,  was  defeated  at  the 
last  and  most  important  moment  from  a  quarter  which  had  ex- 
cited no  suspicions.  The  circumstance  has  in  it  no  small  portion 
of  romance.  A  young  lady,  said  to  be  beautiful,  and  certainly 
bold — the  daughter  of  one  tried  patriot  and  the  sister  of  an- 
other— had  formed  in  secret  a  matrimonial  connection  with  a 
British  officer,  who  was  one  of  the  besieged.  Her  residence 
was  in  the  neighborhood,  and  she  was  countenanced,  in  visiting 
the  camp  with  a  flag,  on  some  pretence  of  little  moment.  She 
was  received  with  civility,  and  dined  at  the  general's  table. 
Permitted  the  freedom  of  the  encampment,  she  was  probably 
distinguished  by  her  lover  from  the  redoubt,  and  contrived  to 
convey  by  signs  the  desire  which  she  entertained  to  make  some 
communication  to  the  besieged.  The  ardor  of  the  lover  and 
the  soldier  united  to  infuse  a  degree  of  audacity  into  his  bosom, 
which  prompted  him  to  an  act  of  daring  equally  bold  and  suc- 
cessful. He  acknowledged  her  signal,  darted  from  the  redoubt, 
received  her  verbal  communication,  and  returned  in  safety 
amidst  a  shower  of  bullets  from  the  baffled  and  astonished  sen- 
tinels. Such  is  the  story  told  by  tradition.  It  differs  little 
from  that  which  history  relates,  and  in  no  substantial  particular  ; 
what  is  obscure  in  the  tale,  but  increases  what  is  romantic.  The 
feu  de  joie  of  the  besieged  and  their  loud  huzzas  apprized  the 
American  general  of  their  new  hopes ;  and  too  plainly  assured 
him  that  his  labor  was  taken  in  vain. 

Colonel  Conway  was  admitted  that  night  to  the  tent  of  the 
general,  where  a  council  of  war  was  to  be  held  as  to  the  course 
now  to  be  pursued.  Greene  necessarily  presided.  Unmoved 


NINETY-SIX  —  A   PLIGHT  BY   NIGHT.  281 

by  disappointment,  unembarrassed  by  the  probable  defeat  of  his 
hopes  and  purposes,  this  che.erftil  and  brave  soldier  looked 
around  him  with  a  smile  of  good  humor  upon  his  military  family 
while  he  solicited  their  several  opinions.  His  fine  manly  face, 
bronzed  by  the  fierce  glances  of  the  southern  sun,  and  height- 
ened by  an  eye  of  equal  spirit  and  benevolence,  wore  none  of 
that  dark  disquietude  and  sullen  ferocity,  the  sure  token  of 
vindictive  and  bad  feelings,  which  scowled  in  the  whole  visage 
of  his  able  opponent,  Rawdon.  A  slight  obliquity  of  vision, 
the  result  of  small-pox  in  his  youth,  did  not  impair  the  sweetness 
of  his  glance,  though  it  was  sufficiently  obvious  in  the  eye 
which  it  affected.  Conway  had  seen  him  more  than  once  be- 
fore, but  never  to  so  much  advantage  as  now,  when  a  defeat  so 
serious  as  that  which  threatened  his  hopes,  and  rendered  ne- 
cessary the  measure  of  consultation  then  in  hand.  He  looked 
for  the  signs  of  peevishness  and  vexation  but  he  saw  none. 
Something  of  anxiety  may  have  clouded  the  brow  of  the  com- 
mander but  such  an  expression  only  serves  to  ennoble  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  man  whose  pursuits  are  elevated  and  whose  per- 
formances are  worthy.  Anxiety  makes  the  human  countenance 
only  the  more  thoroughly  and  sacredly  human.  It  is  the  sign 
of  care,  and  thought,  and  labor,  and  hope — of  all  the  moral 
attributes  whicl?  betoken  the  mind  at  work,  and  most  usually  at 
its  legitimate  employments. 

On  the  right  hand  of  Greene  sat  one  who  divided  between 
himself  and  the  commander-in-chief  the  attention  of  the  ardent 
young  partisan.  This  was  the  celebrated  polish  patriot  Kos- 
ciuzko.  He  had  served  throughout  the  siege  as  chief  engineer, 
and,  under  his  guidance,  the  several  approaches  had  been  made. 
His  tall,  erect,  military  form,  pale,  thin  and  melancholy  features, 
light  brown  hair,  already  thinned  above  his  lofty  brow,  together 
with  the  soft  blue  eye  which  lightened  them  up  at  moments 
with  almost  girlish  animation,  seemed  to  the  mind  of  Conway 
inexpressibly  touching.  The  fate  and  name  of  Kosciuzko  were 
so  intimately  connected  with  those  of  his  country,  that  the  eye 
of  the  spectator  beheld  the  miseries  of  Poland  in  the  sad 
features  of  its  melancholy  exile.  His  words,  few,  and  sweet- 
ened as  it  were  by  the  imperfect  English  in  which  they  were 


282  THE  SCOUT. 

expressed,  riveted  the  attention  of  all,  and  were  considered  with 
marked  deference  by  the  commander,  to  whom  they  were  ad- 
dressed. 

There  were  many  other  brave  men  at  that  council-board, 
some  of  whom  Clarence  Conway  now  beheld  for  the  first  time, 
whose  deeds  and  reputation  had  reached  his  ears,  and  whose 
persons  he  now  examined  with  momently-growing  interest. 

There  was  Lee  of  the  legion,  whom  Greene  emphatically  styled 
the  eye  and  wing  of  his  army ;  Campbell  of  the  Virginians,  who 
subsequently  fell  at  the  Eutaw,  while  bravely  leading  on  his  com- 
mand; Kirkwood  of  the  Delawares,  happily  designated  as  the 
continental  Diomed,  a  soldier  of  delightful  daring;  Howard  of  the 
Marylanders ;  Rudolph  of  the  legion,  Armstrong,  and  Benson, 
and  others,  whose  presence  would  enlighten  any  council-board, 
as  their  valor  had  done  honor  to  every  field  in  which  they 
fought.  Our  hero  had  enough  to  do,  after  conveying  to  the 
council  all  his  intelligence,  to  note  and  study  the  features  of 
his  associates — to  weigh  the  words  which  they  uttered — and  to 
endeavor,  for  himself,  to  judge  in  what  degree  they  severally 
deserved  the  high  reputations  which  they  bore.  He  was  not 
disposed  or  prepared,  perhaps,  to  offer  any  suggestions  himself. 
He  was  better  pleased  to  study  and  to  listen. 

The  consultation  was  brief.  The  points  to  be  discussed  were 
few. 

"  You  perceive,  gentlemen,"  said  Greene,  opening  the  pro- 
ceedings, "  that  our  toils  appear  to  have  been  all  taken  in  vain. 
Apprized  of  Lord  Rawdon's  approach,  the  garrison  will  now 
hold  out  until  the  junction  is  effected,  and  for  that  we  can  not 
wait ;  we  are  in  no  condition  to  meet  Lord  Rawdon  single- 
handed.  Colonel  Conway,  whose  exertions  merit  my  warmest 
acknowledgments,  represents  his  force  as  quite  too  formidable 
for  anything  that  we  can  oppose  to  him.  He  brings  with  him 
three  fresh  regiments  from  Ireland,  the  remains  of  the  regiment 
of  Boze,  near  six  hundred  loyalists  whom  he  has  mounted  as 
cavalry,  besides  Coffin's  dragoons — in  all,  an  army  little  short 
of  three  thousand  men.  To  this  we  can  oppose  scarce  eight 
hundred  in  camp  and  fit  for  duty ;  Marion  and  Sumter  are  too 
far,  and  too  busy  below,  to  leave  me  any  hope  of  their  co-opera- 


NINETY-SIX  —  A   FLIGHT  BY  NIGHT.  283 

tion  before  Rawdon  comes  within  striking  distance;  and  the 
presence  of  his  lordship  in  such  force  will  bring  out  Cunningham 
and  Harrison,  with  all  their  loyalists,  who  will  give  sufficient 
employment  for  Pickens  and  Washington  above.  Retreat  be- 
comes absolutely  necessary ;  but  shall  our  labors  here  for  the 
last  month  be  thrown  away  1  Shall  we  give  up  '  Ninety-Six' 
without  a  struggle1?  Shall  we  not  make  the  effort  to  win 
the  post,  and  behind  its  walls  prepare  for  the  reception  of 
Rawdon  ?" 

The  unanimous  opinion  of  the  council  tallied  with  the  wishes 
of  the  commander.  The  assault  was  resolved  upon.  The 
necessary  orders  were  given  out  that  night,  and  the  army  was 
all  in  readiness  on  the  morning  of  the  18th  of  June  to  make  the 
final  attempt.  The  forlorn  hope  was  led,  on  the  American  left, 
against  the  '  Star'  battery,  by  Lieutenants  Seldon'and  Duval. 
Close  behind  them  followed  a  party  furnished  with  hooks  fast- 
ened to  staves,  whose  particular  duty  it  was  to  pull  down  the 
sand-bags  which  the  enemy  had  raised  upon  their  parapet. 
Colonel  Campbell  next  advanced  to  the  assault  at  the  head  of 
the  first  Maryland  and  Virginian  regiments.  These  all  marched 
under  cover  of  the  approaches,  until  they  came  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  enemy's  ditch.  Major  Rudolph  commanded  the 
forlorn  hope  on  the  American  right  against  the  stockade,  sup- 
ported by  the  legion  infantry,  and  Kirkwood's  Delawares.  The 
forts,  the  rifle-towers,  and  all  the  American  works,  were  manned 
and  prepared  to  sweep  the  enemy's  parapet,  previous  to  the 
advance  of  the  storming  party.  Duval  and  Seldon  were  to 
clear  the  abattis  and  occupy  the  opposite  curtain,  then,  driving 
off  the  enemy,  were  to  open  the  way  for  the  workmen.  The 
sand-bags  pulled  down,  Campbell  was  to  make  the  attack,  avail- 
ing himself  of  their  aid  in  clambering  up  the  parapet.  To 
Colonel  Lee  was  left  the  assault  upon  the  stockades,  of  which, 
when  obtained,  he  was  simply  to  keep  possession  and  wait 
events. 

A  discharge  of  artillery  at  noon  was  the  signal  for  the  assault, 
which  was  followed  by  the  prompt  movement  of  the  storming 
parties.  An  uninterrupted  blaze  of  artillery  and  small-arms 
covered  the  advance  of  the  forlorn  hope ;  and,  enveloped  in  its 


284  THE  SCOUT. 

shadowing  smokes,  this  gallant  little  band  leaped  the  ditch  and 
commenced  the  work  of  destruction. 

But  the  besieged  who  had  so  bravely  and  for  so  long  a  time 
defended  their  ramparts,  and  whom  the  approach  of  Lord  Raw- 
don  had  inspired  with  fresh  confidence  and  courage,  was  pre- 
pared for  their  reception.  They  met  the  attack  with  equal 
coolness  and  determination.  The  assailants  were  encountered 
by  bristling  bayonets  and  levelled  pikes,  which  lined  the  para- 
pet, while  a  stream  of  fire,  poured  forth  from  intervals  between 
the  sand-bags,  was  productive  of  dreadful  havoc  among  them. 
The  form  of  the  redoubt  gave  to  the  besieged  complete  com- 
mand over  the  ditch,  and  subjected  the  besiegers  to  a  cross- 
fire, which  the  gradual  removal  of  the  abattis  only  tended  to 
increase. 

For  the  Details  of  this  action,  the  reader  will  look  to  other  his- 
tories. Enough  if,  in  dealing  with  this  (to  us)  purely  episodical 
matter,  we  give  the  result.  The  attempt  was  desperate ;  but 
so  was  the  hope.  The  Americans  fought  well,  but  on  the  most 
unfortunate  terms  of  combat.  This  is  not  the  place  to  criticise 
the  transaction  ;  but,  some  day,  the  military  critic  will  find  it 
instructive  to  review  this,  among  other  great  actions  of  our 
Revolutionary  war,  and  will  be  able  to  point  out  clearly  the 
miserable  mistakes,  the  result  of  equal  ignorance  and  imbecility, 
by  which  the  native  valor  of  the  people  was  continually  set  at 
naught.  There  were  mistakes  enough  in  this  siege  and  assault 
of  'Ninety-Six,'  to  decide  the  latter  before  it  was  begun. 
Enough  now,  that  the  day  was  lost,  almost  as  soon  as  begun. 
The  hope  of  the  assailants,  small  at  the  beginning,  was  very 
soon  utterly  dissipated ;  and  mortified  and  pained,  less  at  being 
baffled  than  at  the  loss  of  so  many  brave  men,  Greene  gave  the 
orders  which  discontinued  the  assault. 

Yet,  for  near  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  did  these  brave  fel- 
lows persist,  notwithstanding  the  fall  of  two  thirds  of  their  num- 
ber and  both  their  leaders.  This  daring  and  enduring  courage 
enabled  them  to  occupy  the  curtain,  and  maintain,  hand  to  hand, 
the  conflict  with  the  garrison.  They  yielded  at  length,  rather 
to  the  summons  of  their  commander  than  to  their  own  fear  of 
danger.  The  greater  part  of  their  men  were  killed  or  wounded  j 


NINETY-SIX  —  A   FLIGHT   BY   NIGHT.  285 

but  the  latter  were  brought  off  amid  the  hottest  fire  of  the 
garrison. 

The  misfortunes  of  Greene  did  not  end  here.  The  British 
general  was  at  hand,  and,  the  dead  being  buried,  the  American 
commander  struck  his  tents,  and  commenced  the  retreat  which 
earned  Clarence  Conway  still  further  from  a  region  in  which  all 
his  feelings  and  anxieties  were  now  deeply  and  doubly  inter- 
ested. We  will  not  attempt  to  pursue  his  flight,  but,  retracing 
our  steps  in  a  quarter  to  which  he  dare  not  turn,  we  will  resume 
our  march  along  with  that  of  the  British  army,  when  they  left 
the  Middleton  barony  to  advance  upon  Ninety-Six. 

But,  in  going  back  to  Brier  Park,  it  is  not  our  purpose  at  this 
time  to  trespass  again  upon  its  inmates.  We  shall  simply  join 
company  with  our  ancient  friend,  John  Bannister,  and  trace  his 
progress,  as  a  prisoner,  in  the  train  of  his  captors. 

Watson  Gray — having  been  intrusted  by  Lord  Hawdon  with 
the  exclusive  disposition  of  this  business,  in  consequence  of  the 
suggestions  which  the  latter  had  made  him  the  night  before — 
had  very  naturally  assigned  the  custody  of  the  scout  to  the 
Black  Eiders,  of  whom,  under  a  roving  commission,  Gray  ranked 
as  an  inferior  officer.  He  had  every  reason  for  believing  the 
charge  to  be  a  secure  one.  Bannister  had  long  been  an  object 
of  dislike  and  apprehension  to  this  troop,  as  he  had  on  several 
occasions  discovered  their  most  secret  haunts,  and  beaten  up 
their  quarters.  His  skill  in  the  woods  was  proverbial,  %and 
dreaded  by  all  his  enemies  accordingly ;  and  the  recent  display 
which  he  had  made  in  the  case  of  Gray  himself,  of  that  readi- 
ness of  resource  which  had  rendered  him  famous,  was  very  well 
calciilated  to  mortify  the  latter,  and  make  him  desirous  of  sub- 
jecting his  own  captor  to  all  the  annoyance  likely  to  follow 
captivity. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  motives  by  which  he  was 
governed  in  this  proceeding,  it  was  very  evident  that  Supple 
Jack  could  not  have  been  put  into  less  indulgent  custody.  But 
circumstances  baffle  the  wisest,  in  spite  of  all  precautions ;  and 
events  which  are  utterly  beyond  human  foresight  suddenly  arise 
to  confound  all  the  calculations  of  the  cunning.  John  Bannister 
found  a  friend  among  the  Black  Riders  when  he  little  expected 


286  THE   SCOUT. 

one.  When  the  army  came  to  a  halt  that  night,  which  was  not 
till  a  tolerably  late  hour,  their  camp  was  made  on  the  northern 
side  of  the  Little  Saluda,  just  within  the  line  of  the  present 
district  of  Edgefield ;  a  commanding  spot  was  chosen  for  the 
bivouac,  and  every  precaution  taken  to  secure  it  from  distur- 
bance for  the  night. 

The  preparations  for  supper  produced  the  customary  stir  and 
excitement  for  a  while ;  but  the  supper  itself  was  soon  discussed. 
Excessive  fatigue  had  lessened  appetite,  and  sleep  was  alone 
desirable  to  the  regiments,  which  had  been  pressed  forward  to 
the  utmost  of  their  marching  powers,  from  the  very  first  moment 
of  their  leaving  Charleston.  The  intense  heat  of  the  climate, 
at  that  season,  made  this  task  an  inappreciably  severe  one. 
The  duties  of  the  cavalry  had  been,  if  possible,  still  more  severe 
than  those  of  the  infantry ;  compelled,  as  they  constantly  were, 
to  make  continual  and  large  circuits  through  the  country, 
around  the  line  of  march  of  the  army,  in  order  to  defeat  the 
perpetual  ambuscades  of  the  Americans,  who,  in  small  parties, 
hovered  about  the  march,  and  made  frequent  dashes,  which  were 
almost  as  successful  as  frequent,  whenever  opportunity,  or  re- 
missness  of  the  enemy,  seemed  to  invite  adventure.  For  the 
first  time,  for  a  long  period,  the  circumstances  of  the  campaign 
seemed  to  promise  impunity  to  the  encampment ;  and,  with  a 
pleasant  feeling  of  relief,  the  British  troops  prepared  to  make 
the  most  of  their  securities.  B/est,  repose,  sleep — these  were 
now  the  only  objects  of  desire  ;  and  the  several  groups  crouched 
about  beneath  the  forest-trees,  without  much  pause  or  choice, 
sinking  down  simply  in  the  shade,  upon  the  dry  leaves,  with 
cloak  or  blanket  wrapped  about  them. 

The  Black  Eiders  were  stationed  beside  a  grove  which  skirted 
one  of  the  forks  of  the  little  Saluda,  and  were  not  the  last  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  general  privilege  of  sleep.  A  few  trees 
sufficed  to  cover  their  entire  troop,  and  they  clustered  together 
in  several  small  bodies,  the  horses  of  each  group  being  fastened 
to  swinging  limbs  of  trees  close  to  those  which  sheltered  their 
riders,  in  order  that  they  might  be  ready  at  hand  in  any  sudden 
emergency. 

In  the  centre  of  one  of  these  squads  lay  John  Bannister.     He 


NINETY-SIX A   FLIGHT   BY    NIGHT.  287 

was  bound  hand  and  foot ;  the  bandages  upon  the  latter-mein- 
bers  being  only  put  on  for  sleeping  purposes,  to  be  withdrawn 
when  the  march  was  resumed.  A  few  rods  distant,  paced  a 
sturdy  sentinel,  to  whom  the  double  duty  was  entrusted  of  keep- 
ing equal  watch  upon  the  horses  and  the  prisoner.  With  this 
exception,  Bannister  was  almost  the  only  person  whose  eyes 
were  unsealed  by  slumber  in  the  encampment  of  the  dragoons. 
He  was  wakeful  through  anxiety  and  thought ;  for,  though  one 
of  the  most  cheerful  and  elastic  creatures  breathing,  he  had  too 
many  subjects  of  serious  apprehension,  to  suffer  him  to  enjoy 
that  repose  which  his  body  absolutely  needed.  There  was  yet 
another  reason  to  keep  him  wakeful.  He  was  very  far  from 
being  resigned  to  his  fate.  He  had  no  taste  for  the  condition  of 
the  prisoner ;  and  the  moment  that  found  him  a  captive  found 
him  meditating  schemes  for  his  own  deliverance.  His  plans  had 
reference  to  himself  entirely.  He  was  one  of  those  self  depend- 
ent people,  who  never  care  to  look  abroad  for  those  resources 
which  may  be  found  within;  and,  closing  his  eyes  where  he 
lay,  and  affecting  the  sleep  which  he  could  not  obtain,  he  wea- 
ried himself  with  the  examination  of  a  hundred  different  plans 
for  escaping  from  his  predicament. 

While  he  lay  in  this  position  he  heard  some  one  approach  and 
speak  to  the  sentinel.  A  brief  dialogue  ensued  between  them, 
carried  on  in  terms  quite  too  low  to  be  distinguished  by  him ; 
but  the  tones  of  the  stranger's  voice  seemed  familiar  to  the  ear 
of  the  listener.  Bannister  opened  his  eyes  and  discerned  the 
two  persons ;  but,  in  consequence  of  the  umbrage  of  the  trees 
between,  he  could  only  see  their  lower  limbs ;  after  a  while  one 
of  them  disappeared,  and  fancying  that  it  was  the  stranger,  and 
that  the  sentinel  would  again  resume  his  duties,  the  prisoner 
again  shut  his  eyes  and  tried  to  resume  the  train  of  meditation 
which  the  intrusion  had  disturbed.  He  had  not  long  been  thus 
engaged  when  he  was  startled  by  the  low  accents  of  some  one 
speaking  behind  the  trunk  of  the  tree  against  which  his  head 
was  leaned,  and  addressing  him  by  name. 

"  Who  speaks  ?"  he  demanded,  in  the  same  whispering  tones 
in  which  he  had  been  addressed. 

"A  friend." 


288  THE  SCOUT. 

"  who  r 

"Muggs." 

"What,  Isaac?' 

"  The  same." 

"  Ah,  you  varmint !  after  I  convarted  you,  you'll  still  follow 
the  British." 

"Hush!"  whispered  the  other,  with  some  trepidation  in  his 
tones.  "  For  God's  sake,  not  so  loud.  Stockton  and  Darcy  and 
two  more  are  jest  under  the  oaks  to  the  left,  and  I'm  jub'ous 
they're  half  awake  now." 

"  But  how  come  you  here,  Muggs  ?"  ^ 

"  Why,  nateral  enough.  I  hearn  the  army  was  on  its  march, 
and  I  reckoned  there  was  guineas  to  he  got  by  way  in  exchange 
for  rum  and  sugar ;  so  I  hitched  horse  and  wagon  together,  and 
turned  sutler  for  the  troop  as  I  used  to ;  and  mighty  glad  are 
they  to  see  me ;  and  mighty  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  Jack  Ban- 
nister, and  to  try  and  give  you  a  help  out  of  your  hitch." 

"  I'm  jub'ous  of  you,  Isaac  Muggs.  I'm  afeard  you  ain't  had 
a  full  couvarsion." 

"  Don't  you  be  afeard.     Trust  to  me." 

"  How  1  Trust  to  you  for  what  ?  Will  you  loose  me — git 
me  a  horse  and  a  broadsword — hey  ?  Can  you  do  this  for  the 
good  cause,  Isaac,  and  prove  your  convarsion  1" 

"  Don't  talk,  but  turn  on  your  side  a  leetle,  so  that  I  can  feel 
where  your  hands  are  tied.  Be  quick — I  hain't  much  time  to 
spare.  Ben  Geiger,  who  is  your  sentry,  is  gone  to  my  wagon 
to  get  a*  drink,  and  will  be  back  pretty  soon,  and  I'm  keeping 
watch  for  him,  and  a  mighty  good  watch  I'll  keep." 

"There  —  cut,  Muggs,  and  let  me  git  up;  but  you  must  cut 
the  legs  loose  too.  They've  hitched  me  under  and  over,  as  ef  I 
was  a  whole  team  by  myself." 

"  And  so  you  are,  John  Bannister ;  but  you  mustn't  git  up 
when  I  cut  you  loose." 

"  Thunder  !  and  why  not,  Muggs  ?  What's  the  use  of  loosing 
foot  and  fingers,  if  one's  not  to  use  them  V' 

"Not  jest  yet;  because  that'll  be  getting  Ben  Geiger  into  a 
scrape,  and  me  at  the  back  of  it.  You  must  wait  till  he's 
changed  for  another  sentry,  and  till  I  gives  the  signal.  I'll 


NINETY-SIX — A    FLIGHT   BY   NIGHT.  281) 

whistle  for  you  the  old  boat-horn  tune  that's  carried  you  many 
a  long  night  along  the  Congaree — you  remember  1  Well,  when 
you  hear  that  you  may  know  that  the  sentry's  changed.  Then 
watch  the  time,  and  when  the  t'other  sentinel  draws  off  toward 
the  horses,  you  can  crawl  through  them  gum-bushes  on  all  fours 
and  git  into  the  bay.  As  for  the  horse,  I'm  jub'ous  there's  no 
getting  one  easy.  They'll  make  too  much  trampling.  But  I'll 
meet  you  on  t'other  side  of  the  bay,  and  bring  you  a  pistol,  or 
sword,  or  whatever  I  can  find." 

"  Well,  well !  You  bring  the  sword  and  pistol.  It'll  be 
mighty  hard,  where  there's  so  many,  if  I  can't  find  the  nag 
myself." 

"  Work  your  hands,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  They're  free  !  they're  free  !"  was  the  exulting  response  of 
the  scout,  almost  too  loudly  expressed  for  prudence. 

"  Hush,  for  God's  sake !  and  don't  halloo  until  you're  out  of 
the  bush.  Take  the  knife  now  in  your  own  hands,  and  cut 
loose  your  feet.  But  you  must  lie  quiet,  and  let  the  ropes  rest 
jest  where  they  are.  Make  b'lieve- you're  asleep  till  you  hear 
my  whistle,  and  then  crawl  off  as  if  you  were  all  belly,  and 
wriggle  away  as  quiet  as  a  blacksnake.  I  must  leave  you  now. 
It's  a'most  time  for  Ben  Geiger  to  get  back." 

The  scout  did  not  await  a  second  suggestion  to  apply  the  keen 
edge  of  the  hunter's  knife,  which  the  landlord  furnished  him,  to 
the,  cords  which  fastened  his  feet.  These  he  drew  up  repeatedly 
with  the  satisfaction  of  one  who  is  pleased  to  exercise  and  enjoy 
the  unexpected  liberty  which  he  receives ;  but  the  suggestions 
of  the  landlord,  which  were  certainly  those  of  common  sense, 
warned  him  to  limit  these  exercises,  and  restrain  his  impatient 
members,  till  the  time  should  arrive  for  using  them  with  advan- 
tage. He  accordingly  composed  himself  and  them,  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  preserve  the  appearance  of  restraint ;  arranged  the 
perfect  portions  of  the  ropes  above  his  ankles,  and  tucked  in  the 
several  ends  between  and  below.  Then,  passing  his  hands  be- 
hind him,  as  before,  he  lay  on  his  back  outstretched  with  all  the 
commendable  patience  of  a  stoic  philosopher  awaiting  the  opera- 
tions of  that  fate  with  which  he  holds  it  folly  if  not  impertinence 
to  interfere. 

13 


290  THE   SCOUT. 

The  landlord,  meanwhile,  had  resumed  the  duties  of  the  sen- 
tinel, and  was  pacing  the  measured  ground  with  the  regularity 
of  a  veteran,  and  the  firm  step  of  one  who  is  conscious  of  no 
failure  of  duty.  The  scout's  eyes  naturally  turned  upon  him 
with  an  expression  of  greatly  increased  regard. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  in  a  mental  soliloquy,  "  I  was  half  jub'ous 
I'd  have  to  lick  Muggs  over  agin,  before  he  could  be  brought  to 
a  reasonable  way  of  thinking.  I  was  mightily  afeard  that  he 
only  had  half  an  onderstanding  of  the  truth  when  I  gin  him  that 
hoist  on  the  Wateree ;  but  it's  a  God's  providence  that  orders 
all  things,  in  his  blessed  mercy,  for  the  best,  and  lets  one  licking 
answer  for  a  stout  man's  convarsion.  I'm  jub'ous,  if  Muggs 
hadn't  ha'  lost  one  arm  in  the  wars,  if  he  would  have  onderstood 
the  liberties  we're  fighting  for  half  so  easily.  Liberty's  a  diffi- 
cult thing  to  be  onderstood  at  first.  It  takes  mighty  hard  knocks 
and  a  heap  of  thinking,  to  make  it  stand  out  cl'ar  in  the  day- 
light ;  and  then  it's  never  half  so  cl'ar,  or  half  so  sweet,  as  when 
there's  some  danger  that  we're  going  to  lose  it  for  ever,  for  good 
and  all.  If  ever  I  wanted  to  teach  a  friend  of  mine  how  to  be- 
lieve in  the  reason  of  liberty,  I'd  jis  lock  him  up  in  a  good  strong 
jail  for  three  months,  or  mou't  be  six,  put  on  a  hitch  of  plough- 
line  on  hands  and  legs,  and  then  argy  with  him  to  show  that 
God  made  a  mighty  great  mistake  when  he  gin  a  man  a  pair  of 
feet  and  a  pair  of  hands,  when  he  might  see  for  himself  that  he 
could  sleep  in  the  stumps  at  both  ends  and  never  feel  the  want 
of  'em.  But  there  comes  Ben  Geiger,  I  suppose,  and  I  must  lie 
as  if  my  legs  were  stumps  only.  Lord !  I'll  show  'em  another 
sort  of  argyment  as  soon  as  Isaac  gives  that  old  Congaree 
whistle.  It's  only  some  twenty  steps  to  the  wood,  and  I  reckon 
it  can't  be  much  more  to  the  bay,  for  the  airth  looks  as  if  it 
wanted  to  sink  mighty  sudden.  These  chaps  round  me  snort 
very  loud — that's  a  sign,  I've  always  hearn,  of  sound  sleep- 
ing. I  don't  much  mind  the  resk  of  getting  off  to  the  bay ;  but 
I'm  getting  too  fat  about  the  ribs  to  walk  a  long  way  in  this  hot 
weather.  Noise  or  no  noise,  I  must  pick  out  one  of  them  nags 
for  the  journey.  Let  'em  snort.  I  don't  much  mind  pistol-bul- 
lets when  they  fly  by  night  at  a  running  horseman.  They're 
like  them  that  shoot  'em.  They  make  a  great  bellowing,  but 


NINETY-SIX — A   FLIGHT   BY   NIGHT.  291 

they  can't  see.  Let  'em  snort ;  but  ef  I  work  my  own  legs  this 
night,  it'll  be  to  pick  out  the  best  nag  in  that  gang,  and  use  him 
by  way  of  preference." 

Time  moved  very  slowly,  in  the  estimation  of  the  anxious 
scout.  Ben  Geiger,  the  sentry,  had  resumed  his  watch  and 
walk.  Muggs  had  disappeared,  and  solemn  was  the  silence  that 
once  more  prevailed  over  the  encampment.  Two  full  hours  had 
elapsed  since  the  limbs  of  Bannister  had  been  unloosed,  and  still 
he  waited  for  the  signal  which  was  to  apprize  him  that  the  mo- 
ment for  their  use  was  at  hand.  But  it  came  out  at  last,  the 
long  wailing  note,  such  as  soothes  the  heart  with  sweet  melan- 
choly, untwisted  from  the  core  of  the  long  rude  wooden  bugle  of 
the  Congaree  boatman,  as  he  winds  his  way  upon  the  waters  of 
that  rapid  rushing  river.  The  drowsy  relief-guard  soon  followed, 
and  Ben  Geiger  disappeared  to  enjoy  that  luxury  of  sleep  from 
which  his  successor  was  scarcely  yet  entirely  free.  He  rubbed 
his  eyes  and  yawned  audibly  while  moving  to  and  fro  with  un- 
steady step  along  the  beaten  limits  of  his  round.  His  drowsy 
appearance  gave  increased  encouragement  to  the  woodsman. 
But  even  this  was  not  necessary  to  impart  confidence  to  so  cool 
a  temper,  so  cheerful  a  spirit,  and  so  adroit  a  scout.  The  sen- 
try had  looked  upon  the  prisoner  and  the  horses  in  the  presence 
of  the  guard  when  Geiger  was  relieved.  Satisfied  that  all  was 
safe,  he  had  started  upon  his  march ;  and,  giving  sufficient  time 
to  the  guard  to  resume  their  own  slumbers,  Jack  Bannister  now 
prepared  himself  for  his  movement. 

This  event,  which  would  have  been  of  great  importance,  and 
perhaps  of  trying  danger  to  most  persons  in  his  situation,  was 
really  of  little  consequence  in  his  eyes.  With  the  release  of  his 
hands  and  feet  he  regarded  the  great  difficulty  as  fully  at  an 
end.  The  risk  of  pistol-shot,  as  we  have  seen  from  his  solilo- 
quy, he  considered  a  very  small  one.  Besides,  it  was  a  risk  of 
the  war  in  which  he  was  engaged,  and  one  which  he  had  in- 
curred a  hundred  times  before.  On  foot,  he  well  knew  that  he 
could  surpass  the  best  runner  of  the  Indian  tribes,  and  once  in 
the  thick  bay  which  was  contiguous,  he  could  easily  conceal 
himself  beyond  the  apprehension  of  cavalry.  If  he  had  any 
anxiety  at  all,  it  was  on  the  subject  of  choosing  a  horse  from 


292  THE   SCOUT. 

the  cluster  that  were  attached  to  the  swinging  limbs  of  the  adja- 
cent oaks.  He  felt  that,  with  the  opportunity  before  him,  and 
with  choice  allowed,  it  was  incumbent  upon  him  to  choose  with 
reference  to  his  reputation  no  less  than  to  his  escape.  To 
choose  an  inferior  brute,  having  the  pick  of  the  best,  would  have 
argued  greatly  against  the  understanding  of  the  scout,  and  would 
have  filled  his  soul  with  a  bitter  sense  of  mortification.  But 
hear  him,  as  he  deliberates,  and  you  will  be  satisfied  that  he  is 
not  the  person  to  throw  away  a  good  chance,  and  disregard  the 
value  of  a  proper  choice. 

"  There's  a  dark  bay,  ^'m  thinking,  that,  as  well  as  I  can 
make  out  in  the  moonlight,  is  about  the  best.  The  black  is  a 
monstrous  stout  animal,  but  too  high  and  heavy  for  the  sand 
roads.  The  gray  is  a  little  too  showy  for  a  scout  that  ought  to 
love  the  shade  better  than  the  sunshine.  I  reckon  I'll  resk  the 
bay.  He  ain't  too  heavy,  and  he  ain't  too  low.  He  has  legs 
enough  for  his  body,  and  his  body  looks  well  on  his  legs.  He'll 
do,  and  if  I  could  only  take  the  saddle  from  the  black  and  clap 
it  on  the  bay,  I'd  be  a  made  horseman.  It's  a  prime  English 
saddle,  and  I  reckon  the  holsters  don't  want  for  filling.  It's 
mighty  tempting,  but " 

A  favorable  opportunity  for  making  a  movement  now  suggest- 
ing itself,  his  soliloquy  was  cut  short.  The  scout  had  his  eyes 
all  around  him.  The  sentinel's  back  was  toward  him,  and  he 
commenced  his  progress.  To  the  citizen,  uninformed  in  the  ar- 
tifices of  Indian  warfare,  the  mode  of  operations  adopted  and 
pursued  by  our  scout,  would  have  been  one  of  curious  contem- 
plation and  study.  It  is  probable  that  such  a  person,  though 
looking  directly  at  the  object,  would  have  been  slow  to  discern 
its  movements,  so  sly,  so  unimposing,  so  shadowy  as  they  were. 
With  the  flexibility  of  a  snake  the  body  of  our  scout  seemed  to 
slide  away  almost  without  the  assistance  of  hands  and  feet.  No 
obvious  motion  betrayed  his  progress,  not  the  slightest  rustling 
in  the  grass,  nor  the  faintest  crumpling  of  the  withered  leaf  of 
the  previous  autumn.  His  escape  was  favored  by  the  gray  gar- 
ments which  he  wore,  which  mixed  readily  with  the  misty 
shadows  of  the  night  and  forest.  Amid  their  curtaining  um- 
brage it  was  now  impossible  for  the  sentinel  to  perceive  him 


NINETY-SIX  —  A  PLIGHT   BY   NIGHT.  293 

while  pursuing  his  rounds ;  and,  aware  of  this,  he  paused  behind 
one  of  the  trees  on  the  edge  of  the  encampment,  and  gently  ele- 
vating his  head,  surveyed  the  path  which  he  had  traversed.  He 
could  still  distinguish  the  sounds  of  sleep  from  several  groups  of 
his  enemies.  The  moonlight  was  glinted  back  from  more  than 
one  steel  cap  and  morion,  which  betrayed  the  proximity  of  the 
Black  Eiders.  There  lay  Stockton,  and  Darcy,  and  the  rest  of 
that  fearful  band  whose  pathway  had  been  traced  in  blood  along 
the  Congareo  and  Saluda.  More  than  one  of  the  associates  of 
the  scout  had  fallen  by  their  felon  hands.  Well  might  Jack 
Bannister  grind  his  teeth. together  as  he  surveyed  them.  How 
easy,  with  their  own  broadswords,  to  make  his  way,  even  at  lit- 
tle hazard  to  himself,  over  severed  necks  and  shoulders  spout- 
ing with  their  gore. 

The  feeling  was  natural  to  the  man,  but  for  an  instant  only. 
Bannister  dismissed  it  with  a  shudder;  and  turning  warily  in 
another  direction,  he  proceeded  to  put  in  execution  his  design 
of  choosing  the  best  horse  from  among  the  group,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  making  his  flight  as  agreeable  to  himself,  and  as  costly 
to  his  enemies,  as  was  possible.  Circumstances  seemed  to  favor 
him,  but  he  never  forewent  his  usual  caution.  He  proceeded 
with  sufficient  gentleness,  and  produced  no  more  disturbance 
among  the  animals  than  they  habitually  occasioned  among  them- 
selves. His  closer  examination  into  their  respective  qualities 
confirmed  the  judgment  which  he  had  previously  formed  while 
watching  them  from  a  distance.  The  dark  bay  was  the"  steed 
that  promised  best  service,  and  he  succeeded  with  little  difficulty 
in  detaching  him  from  the  bough  to  which  he  was  fastened. 

To  bring  him  forth  from  the  group,  so  as  to  throw  the  rest 
between  himself  and  the  sentinel's  line  of  sight,  was  a  task  not 
much  more  difficult ;  and  but  little  more  was  necessary  to  ena- 
ble our  adventurous  scout  to  lead  him  down  the  hillside  into  the 
recesses  of  the  bay,  in  the  shade  of  which  he  could  mount  him 
without  exposure,  and  dart  off  with  every  probability  of  easy 
escape. 

But  courage  and  confidence  are  very  apt  to  produce  audacity 
in  the  conduct  of  a  man  of  much  experience ;  and  our  scout 
yearned  for  the  fine  English  saddle  and  holsters  which  were 


294  THE   SCOUT. 

carried  by  the  black.  Dropping  the  bridle  of  his  bay,  therefore, 
over  a  slender  hickory  shoot,  he  stole  back  to  the  group,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  strip  the  black  of  his  appendages.  But,  whether  the 
animal  had  some  suspicions  that  all  was  not  right  in  this  noctur- 
nal proceeding,  or  was  indignant  at  the  preference  which  the 
scout  had  given  in  favor  of  his  companion  over  himself,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  he  resented  the  liberties  taken  by  the  intruder  in  a 
manner  that  threatened  to  be  more  fatal  to  the  fugitive  than 
all  the  pistols  of  the  encampment.  He  proceeded  by  kicking 
and  biting  to  prove  his  jealousy  and  dislike,  and  this  so  effectu- 
ally, as  to  make  it  a  somewhat  difficult  matter  for  the  scout  to 
effect  his  extrication  from  the  group,  all  of  whom  were  more  or 
less  restiff,  and  prepared  to  retort  upon  the  black  the  sundry 
assaults  which,  in  his  random  fury,  he  had  inflicted  upon  them. 

This  led  to  a  commotion  which  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
sentinel ;  and  his  challenge,  and  evident  approach,  compelled 
Bannister  to  discard  his  caution  and  betake  himself  with  all  ex- 
pedition to  the  steed  which  he  had  captured.  He  darted  forward 
accordingly,  and  the  sharp  bang  of  the  pistol  followed  his  ap- 
pearance on  the  back  of  the  steed.  This,  though  it  awakened 
only  the  merrimeut  of  the  fugitive,  aroused  the  whole  encamp- 
ment. There  was  no  time  for  contemplation; — none  for  the 
expected  conference  with  the  landlord.  Bannister  knew  this. 
He  cast  an  instinctive  glance  to  the  northern  heavens,  as  if 
seeking  for  their  guiding  star,  then  pricking  his  steed  with  the 
point  of  his  knife,  dashed  away  with  a  hurry-scurry  through  the 
woods  that  defied  their  intricacies,  and  seemed  to  laugh  at  the 
vain  shouts  and  clamor  of  the  Black  Riders,  who  were  seeking 
to  subdue  to  order,  with  the  view  to  pursuit,  their  now  unman- 
ageable horses. 

The  circumstance  that  had  led  to  the  discovery  of  Bannister's 
flight,  availed  somewhat  to  diminish  the  dangers  of  the  chase. 
Before  the  refractory  steeds  could  be  quieted,  and  the  dragoons 
on  the  track  of  his  flight,  the  tread  of  his  horse's  heels  was  lost 
entirely  to  their  hearing.  They  scattered  themselves,  neverthe- 
less, among  the  woods,  but  were  soon  recalled  from  a  pursuit 
which  promised  to  be  fruitless ;  while  Bannister,  drawing  up  his 
steed  when  he  no  longer  heard  the  clamors  of  his  pursuers, 


SHADOWS  AND  STRAWS  UPON  THE  SURFACE.          295 

coolly  paused  for  a  while  to  deliberate  upon  tlie  circumstances 
of  his  situation.  But  a  few  moments  seemed  necessary  to  arrive 
at  a  resolution,  and,  once  more  tickling  his  horse's  flanks  with 
the  point  of  his  knife,  he  buried  himself  from  sight  in  the  deep- 
est recesses  of  the  forest. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

SHADOWS   AND   STRAWS   UPON   THE   SURFACE. 

THE  excitement  at  the  Middleton  barony  was  succeeded  by 
something  of  a  calm  ;  but  not  its  usual  calm.  It  had  now  other 
tenants  than  those  whose  quality  and  sex  had  maintained  its 
peace  along  with  its  purity.  The  chief  of  the  outlaws,  attended 
closely  by  his  faithful  adherent,  Watson  Gray,  was  still  its  in- 
mate ;  and  there  was  yet  another  stranger,  in  the  person  of  a 
nice,  dapper  surgeon's  assistant,  to  whom  Hawdon  had  given  the 
wounded  man  in  charge.  This  young  gentleman  was  named 
Hillhouse.  He  was  clever  enough  in  his  profession.  He  could 
take  off  a  leg  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye ;  but  he  was  one  of 
that  unfortunate  class  of  smart  young  persons  who  aim  at  uni- 
versal cleverness.  There  was  no  object  too  high  for  his  ambi- 
tion, and,  unhappily,  none  too  low.  He  philosophized  when 
philosophy  was  on  the  tapis,  and 

"  Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity," 

you  would  have  fancied  the  British  camp  was  the  very  house  of 
God,  and  the  assistant  surgeon  the  very  happiest  exponent  of 
the  designs  of  Providence.  He  talked  poetry  by  the  canto,  and 
felicitated  himself  on  the  equal  taste  with  which  he  enjoyed 
Butler  and  Cowley — the  antipodes  of  English  poets.  But,  per- 
haps, his  happiest  achievement  was  in  the  threading  of  a  needle  ;" 
and  to  see  him  in  this  performance  was  productive  of  a  degree 
of  amusement,  if  not  real  pleasure,  which  could  neither  be  de- 
scribed easily  nor  well  estimated.  His  adroitness  was  truly 
wonderful.  Armed  with  the  sharpened  thread  in  one  hand,  and 


'JUb  THE   SCOUT. 

the  needle  in  the  other — his  lips  working  the  while  with  singu- 
lar indefatigableness — his  left  foot  firmly  planted  in  the  fore- 
ground, his  right  thrown  back,  and  poised  upon  the  toe;  —  and 
he  laughed  to  scorn  the  difficulty  which  the  doubtful  eye  of  the 
needle  seemed  to  offer  to  his  own.  His  genius,  though  univer- 
sal, lay  eminently  this  way.  He  had  the  most  marvellous 
nicety  of  finger  in  threading  needles  that  ever  was  possessed  by 
mortal.  Unhappily,  he  was  not  satisfied  with  a  distinction  so 
notable.  He  was  a  universal  genius,  and  aimed  at  all  sorts  of 
distinction.  He  would  discourse  of  war,  and  manoeuvre  armies, 
so  as  to  confound  Hannibal  and  circumvent  Scipio ;  and,  while 
insisting  upon  his  paramount  excellence  as  a  surgeon,  was  yet 
perpetually  deploring  that  sacrifice  of  his  better  uses  and  en- 
dowments, which  the  profession  required  him  to  make.  Con- 
vention had  done  something  toward  other  developments  and 
desires  of  our  subject.  He  was  a  gallant,  no  less  than  a  genius 
— was  ambitious  of  the  reputation  of  a  roue,  and,  according  to 
his  own  account,  had  achieved  some  of  the  most  wonderful  con- 
quests among  the  sex,  in  spite  of  the  most  eminent  rivals.  His 
complaisance  was  prodigious,  in  respect  to  the  tender  gender ; 
and  when  he  considered  how  hopeless  it  was,  in  one  man,  to  at- 
tempt to  render  all  happy,  he  deplored  the  fate  which  had  made 
him  irresistible,  and  regretted  that  but  a  single  life  was  allowed 
to  execute  all  the  desires  even  of  universal  genius.  How  he 
pitied  the  fair,  fr&il  creatures  who  were  compelled  to  hunger 
hopelessly.  He  would  willingly  have  had  himself  cut  up  in  lit- 
tle for  their  sakes,  could  the  ubiquitous  attributes  of  his  mind 
have  availed  for  the  several  subdivisions  of  his  body  ;  but,  as  this 
could  not  well  be  done,  he  could  only  sigh  for  their  privations. 

Fancy,  with  such  complaisance,  the  person  of  the  ugliest 
"  Greathead"  in  existence — a  man,  with  a  short  neck,  head 
round  as  a  bullet,  eyes  like  goggles,  and  a  nose  as  sharp  as  a 
penknife ;  a  mouth  which  could  hold  a  pippin,  and  was  constantly 
on  the  stretch  as  if  desiring  one.  Fancy,  yet  farther,  such  a 
person  in  the  house  with  a  woman  like  Flora  Middleton,  smirk- 
ing indulgently  upon  that  damsel,  and  readily  mistaking  the 
cool  contempt  with  which  she  regarded  him,  as  only  a  natural 
expression  of  that  wonder  which  his  presence  must  naturally 


SHADOWS   AND   STRAWS   UPON   THE   SURFACE.  297 

inspire  in  a  countiy-girl  —  and  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  anticipate 
some  of  the  scenes  which  took  place  between  them  whenever  it 
was  the  fortune  of  the  gallant  to  be  thrown  into  company  with 
the  maiden. 

Mr.  Hillhouse  was  too  provident  of  time  in  all  matters,  to 
suffer  any  of  his  talents  to  remain  unemployed,  when  he  could 
arrange  it  otherwise.  Love-making  was  regarded  as  one  of 
these.  It  was  not  with  him  a  matter  of  passion  or  of  sentiment. 
He  had  not  a  single  sensibility  at  work.  It  was  simply  as  an 
accomplishment,  and  as  an  exercise  for  his  accomplishments, 
that  he  condescended  to  smile  upon  the  fair,  and  to  confer  those 
affections  which  he  otherwise  affected  to  solicit.  He  himself  had 
no  affections — perhaps  such  a  creature  never  has.  He  was  defi- 
cient in  that  earnestness  of  character  without  which  the  sensi- 
bilities are  forms  rather  than  substances — the  shows  of  things 
which  only  delude,  and  never  satisfy  the  desires  of  the  mind. 
He  had  scarcely  seen  Flora  Middleton  before  he  had  planned 
her  conquest.  While  examining  the  wounds  of  Morton,  in  con- 
nection with  the  head  surgeon,  he  was  turning  over  in  his  mind, 
and  framing  the  words  of  that  salutation  which  he  was  to  ad- 
dress, on  the  first  occasion,  to  the  young  lady.  It  was  not  many 
hours  after  Eawdon's  departure,  before  he  commenced  his  opera- 
tions. The  breakfast-table  was  the  scene.  Mrs.  Middleton, 
whom  the  fatigues  and  alarms  of  the  night  had  overcome,  was 
not  present ;  and,  looking  sad  and  unhappy,  Flora  took  her  seat 
at  the  coffee-board. 

Mr.  Watson  Gray  and  Mr.  Hillhouse  appeared  at  the  first 
summons,  though  the  latter  did  not  seem  conscious  that  the 
room  was  blessed  with  any  other  presence  than  his  own,  and 
that  other  with  whom  he  condescended  to  converse.  Watson 
Gray,  with  sufficient  good  sense,  smiled,  took  his  seat,  and  said 
nothing  beyond  what  was  required  of  good  breeding.  But  the 
surgeon  had  reached  a  period  in  life,  when  it  seemed  to  him  a 
duty  to  display  himself,  and  satisfy  his  companions  of  his  ability 
to  bring  out  others.  Rawdon  had  said  to  him,  when  designating 
him  for  the  duty  of  taking  care  of  Morton — "Now,  don't  make 
a  fool  of  yourself,  Hillhouse ;"  and  Majoribanks,  in  his  hearing, 
had  commented  on  the  counsel,  by  the  remark — "  It  is  almost  the 

12* 


298  THE  SCOUT. 

only  thing  that  he  can  not  help  doing."  But  neither  speech 
served  to  restrain  a  vanity  whose  ebullitions  were  habitual ;  and 
the  young  surgeon  began  to  prattle,  as  soon  as  the  heiress  made 
her  appearance.  The  events  of  the  night,  the  military  move- 
ments of  the  dawn,  and  the  beauty  of  the  morn  which  succeed- 
ed, furnished  him  with  ample  topics.  He  was  in  hope  that  the 
"  spirit-stirring  drum  and  ear-piercing  fife,"  and  so  forth,  had  not 
vexed  too  greatly  the  slumbers  of  Miss  Middleton ;  —  a  wish  that 
the  young  lady  answered  with  a  grave  nod,  and  an  assurance 
which  her  countenance  belied,  that  she  never  felt  better  in  all 
her  life.  The  weather,  the  never-failing  topic,,  enabled  him  to 
dilate  copiously  from  the  poets — Milton  being  the  first  at  hand 
— with  an  almost  literal  description. 

"  A  most  lovely  morning,  Miss  Middleton  !  In  this  beautiful 
country,  you  may  be  said  to  realize  the  truth  of  Milton's  de- 
scription of  another  region."  Hemming  thrice,  to  relieve  him- 
self from  an  obstruction  in  the  throat  which  he  did  not  feel,  he 
proceeded,  in  a  sort  of  chant,  to  give  the  beautiful  address  of 
Eve  to  Adam — beginning  :  — 

"  Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising-  sweet 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds,"  &c.,  &c. 

But  nothing  could  exceed  the  unction  of  his  look  and  gesture, 
when,  approaching  the  conclusion  of  the  passage,  he  betrayed 
by  his  look,  tone,  and  action,  the  true  reason  why  the  selection 
had  been  made,  and  the  application  which  he  sought  to  give  to 
its  closing  sentence  :  — 

'  But  neither  breath  of  morn,  when  she  ascends 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  ;  nor  rising  sun, 
On  this  delightful  land ;  nor  herb,  tree,  flower, 
Glistening  with  dew  ;  nor  fragrance  after  showers  ; 
Nor  grateful  evening  mild ;  nor  silent  night 
With  this  her  solemn  bird  ;  nor  walk  by  moon 
Or  glittering  starlight,  withotit  thee  is  sweet" 

Women  very  soon  discern  when  they  have  to  deal  with  a 
fool.  At  another  time,  and  under  other  circumstances,  Flora 
might  have  amused  herself  with  the  harmless  monster ;  but  she 
forebore,  and  quietly  replied :  — 


SHADOWS  AND  STRAWS  UPON  THE  SURFACE.          299 

"  In  truth,  sir,  your  selection  is  very  appropriate.  The  de- 
scription, at  this  season  of  the  day  and  year,  is  very  correct, 
when  applied  to  our  Congaree  country.  One  would  almost  fancy 
that  Milton  had  been  thinking  of  us.  At  least,  our  self-com- 
plaisance may  well  take  the  liberty  of  applying  his  verses  as 
we  please.  But,  sir,  do  tell  me  how  your  patient  is." 

This  was  all  said  with  the  most  indifferent,  matter-of-fact 
manner  in  the  world.  The  answer  to  the  inquiry  was  lost  in 
the  professional  knowledge  which  enveloped  it.  A  long,  scien- 
tific jargon  ensued,  on  the  subject  of  wounds  in  general;  then 
followed  an  analysis  of  the  several  kinds  of  wounds — gun-shot, 
rifle,  sabre,  pike,  bayonet,  bill,  bludgeon — wounds  in  the  head  and 
the  hip,  the  shoulder  and  the  leg,  the  neck  anct  the  abdomen. 

"  But  of  all  wounds,  Miss  Middleton,  I  feel  at  this  moment 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  the  most  fatal  are  those  which 
are  inflicted  upon  the  human  heart." 

This  was  followed  by  a  glance  of  the  most  inimitable  tender- 
ness, while  the  hand  of  the  speaker  rested  upon  the  region,  the 
susceptibilities  of  which  were  alleged  to  be  so  paramount. 

"Your  opinion,  sir,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  becoming 
gravity,  "  is  confirmed  by  all  that  I  ever  heard  on  the  subject. 
Indeed,  sir,  our  overseer,  who  is  an  excellent  judge  in  such  mat- 
ters, and  who  was  at  one  time  the  only  butcher  in  Charleston — 
prefers  shooting  a  steer  through  the  heart  always,  in  preference 
to  the  head.  He  asserts  that  while  death  is  certain  to  follow 
the  hurt  in  the  one  region,  it  is  a  very  frequent  circumstance 
that  the  hardness  of  the  other  renders  it  impenetrable  to  the 
bullet,  unless  the  aim  be  very  good  and  the  distance  be  very 
small.  But  you,  sir,  ought  to  be  the  best  judge  of  the  correct- 
ness of  this  opinion." 

Watson  Gray  made  considerable  effort  to  suppress  the  grin 
which  rose  in  spite  of  himself  to  his  visage.  The  scout  per- 
ceived, in  an  instant,  the  latent  sarcasm  in  the  reply  of  the 
damsel ;  but  the  young  surgeon  was  innocent  of  any  unnecessary 
understanding;  and  as  she  kept  her  countenance  with  prais- 
worthy  gravity,  he  was  rather  led  to  conclude  that  her  sim- 
plicity was  of  a  kind  somewhat  bordering  on  fatuity. 

"  Verily,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  this  is  a  mere  rustic ;  she 


300  THE  SCOUT. 

has  seen  nothing  of  the  world ;  lived  always  in  a  state  of  pure 
simplicity;  totally  unsophisticated.  I  shall  have  but  little 
trouble  with  her." 

With  this  reflection,  he  proceeded  with  great  dignity  to  offer 
some  objections  to  the  opinion  of  the  overseer,  to  all  of  which 
Flora  Middleton  assented  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  anxious  to 
get  rid  of  a  wearisome  person  or  subject. 

But  the  surgeon  was  not  to  be  shaken  off  so  easily,  and  every 
question  which  she  found  it  necessary  to  propose,  however  sim- 
ple or  little  calculated  to  provoke  dilation,  only  had  the  effect 
of  bringing  about  the  same  results.  The -same  jargon  filled  her 
ears — the  same  inflated  style  of  compliment  offended  her  taste ; 
and,  in  answer  to  the  third  or  fourth  inquiry  as  to  the  condition 
of  his  patient,  he  assured  her  that  "  Wounds  were  either  fatal 
or  they  were  not.  Death  might  follow  the  prick  of  a  needle, 
while  a  man  has  been  known  to  survive  even  a  puncture  of  the 
heart  itself;" — here  followed  another  significant  glance  at  the 
lady ;  — "  but,"  he  continued,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  declares 
the  law,  "while  there  is  life  there  is  hope. — Hope,  as  we  are 
told  by  our  little  poet  of  Twickenham,  'hope  springs  eternal  in 
the  human  breast ;'  and  the  last  person,  Miss  Middleton,  whom 
hope  should  ever  desert,  should  be  the  surgeon.  So  many  have 
been  the  marvellous  cures  which  the  art  of  man  has  effected, 
that  he  should  despair  of  nothing.  Nothing,  you  know,  is  im- 
possible with  Providence — perhaps,  I  should  say,  with  art;  for 
many  have  been  its  successes,  which  ignorance  has  falsely  and 
foolishly  attributed  to  miraculous  interposition.  Miracles,  Miss 
Middleton,  are  not  common  things.  I  am  of  opinion,  though  I 
would  not  have  you  suppose  me  skeptical  or  irreligious,  that  a 
great  many  events  are  represented  as  miraculous  which  owe 
their  occurrence  to  natural  and  ordinary  laws.  There  was  an 
instance — it  came  under  my  own  observation  in  the  island  of 
Jamaica " 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  if  you  please,  but  if  your  patient  can  longer 
spare  your  presence,  mine  can  not.  I  am  to  understand  you, 
then,  as  of  opinion  that  Mr.  Conway  can  only  survive  by  what 
is  ordinarily  considered  a  miracle ;  but  which,  I  am  to  believe, 
will  be  then  wholly  ascribable  to  your  professional  skill  ?" 


SHADOWS   AND   STRAWS   UPON  THE  SURFACE.  301 

"  I  reckon,  Miss  Middleton,"  said  Watson  Gray,  rising  from 
the  table  as  he  spoke,""  that  Mr.  Conway  stands  a  good  chance 
of  getting  over  it.  He's  got  some  ugly  cuts,  but  he  hasn't  much 
fever,  and  I  don't  think  any  of  the  wounds  touch  the  vital  parts. 
I've  seen  a  good  many  worse  hurts  in  my  time,  and  though  I'm 
no  doctor,  yet  I  think  he'll  get  over  it  by  good  nursing  and 
watching." 

Mr.  Hillhouse  was .  greatly  confounded  by  this  interposition. 
His  eyebrows  were  elevated  as  Watson  Gray  went  on,  and  he 
permitted  himself  to  exhibit  just  sufficient  interest  in  the  inter- 
ruption as  to  wheel  his  chair  half  round,  and  take  a  cool,  con- 
temptuous look  at  the  speaker.  The  latter  did  not  wait  for 
reply  or  refutation ;  and  the  simple  directness  of  what  he  said 
was  sufficiently  conclusive  to  Flora,  who  rose  also,  and — the 
the  gentlemen  having  finished  breakfast  —  prepared  to  leave 
the  room.  But  Mr.  Hillhouse  was  not  willing  to  suffer  this 
movement.  He  had  still  more  knowledge  to  display. 

"  Do  not  be  deceived  by  this  person,  Misa  Middleton — a  very 
cool  person,  certainly,  not  wanting  in  presumption — a  strange 
person ;  I  should  judge  him  to  be  the  overseer  of  whom  you 
have  spoken." 

"  No,  sir ;  I  only  know  him  as  one  of  the  friends  of  Mr.  Conway." 

"Ah!  a  friend  of  Mr.  Conway — a  very  strange  selection. 
There  is  nothing  about  which  gentlemen  should  be  so  careful  as 
the  choice  of  friends.  A  friend  is  a  man " 

"Excuse  me,  sir, — but  may  I  beg  your  attention,  at  your 
earliest  leisure,  in  the  chamber  of  the  young  woman?  Her 
delirium  seems  to  be  increasing." 

"  It  will  give  me  pleasure  to  obey  your  requisitions,  Miss 
Middleton ;  but  let  me  warn  you  against  forming  your  judgment, 
upon  the  subject  of  Mr.  Gonway's  condition,  from  the  report  of 
this  person — this  overseer  of  yours.  I  doubt  not  that  he  is  an 
excellent  butcher,  Miss  Middleton ;  but,  surely  it  is  obvious  to 
you  that  the  art  of  taking  life,  and  that  of  saving  it,  are  very 
different  arts.  Now,  I  suspect  that  he  could  tell  very  nearly,  as 
well  as  myself,  what  degree  of  force  it  would  be  necessary  to 
use  in  felling  a  bullock,  but  the  question  how  to  bring  the  same 
bullock  to  life  again- " 


302  THE  SCOUT. 

"  Is  surely  one  that  is  better  answered  by  yourself,  and  I 
should  consult  you,  sir,  were  it  ever  necessary,  in  preference  to 
everybody  else." 

The  surgeon  bowed  at  the  compliment,  and  with  undiminished 
earnestness,  and  more  directness  than  usual,  returned  to  his 
subject,  if  subject  he  may  be  said  to  have  who  amalgamated  all 
subjects  so  happily  together. 

"  Mr.  Conway,  Miss  Middleton,  is  not  so  bad  as  he  might  be, 
and  is  a  great  deal  worse,  I  am  disposed  to  think,  than  he  wishes 
himself  to  be.  His  wounds  are  not  deadly,  though  he  may  die 
of  them ;  yet,  though  life  itself  be  but  a  jest,  I  must  consider  them 
serious.  This  overseer  of  yours  is  right  in  some  things  ;  though, 
I  suspect,  he  only  reports  my  own  remarks  to  Lord  Rawdon,  made 
this  morning,  ere  his  lordship  took  his  departure.  I  told  his  lord- 
ship that  I  considered  the  case  doubtful,  as  all  maladies  must  be 
considered  ;  for  you  know  that  there  is  no  certainty  in  life,  but 
death.  He  has  fever,  and  that  is  unfavorable ;  but  as  he  has 
little  fever,  that  is,  favorable.  In  short,  if  he  does  not  suffer  a 
great  change  for  the  worse,  I  trust  that  he  will  get  better.  Nay, 
I  may  admit  that  I  have  hopes  of  it,  though  no  certainties. 
The  surgeon  who  speaks  of  certainties,  in  such  matters,  is  — 
pardon  me,  Miss  Middleton  —  little  better  than  a  fool." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir ;  you  have  really  enlightened  me  on  many 
subjects.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you.  You  must  have  seen 
a  great  deal  of  the  world,  sir." 

This  was  said  with  an  air  of  very  great  simplicity.  It  com- 
pletely deceived  the  complacent  surgeon. 

"  The  world  !  Miss  Middleton,  I  have  sounded  it  everywhere. 
I  have  basked  on  the  banks  of  the  Niger ;  I  have  meditated  at 
the  foot  of  the  pyramids ;  have  taken  my  chibouque  with  a 
pacha,  and  eaten  sandwiches  with  the  queen  of  Hungary.  I 
have  travelled  far,  toiled  much ;  spent  five  years  in  India,  as 
many  in  the  West  Indies,  two  in  South  America ;  and  yet,  you 
see  me  here  in  South  Carolina,  still  nothing  more  than  second- 
surgeon  to  a  little  army  of  less  than  five  thousand  men,  com- 
manded by  a  general  who — but  no  matter!  Lord  Ilawdon  is 
a  good  soldier,  Miss  Middleton — as  the  world  goes — but,  burn 
me  !  a  very  poor  judge  of  good  associates," 


SHADOWS   AND   STRAWS   UPON   THE    SURFACE.          303 

"  You  must  have  left  your  maternal  ties  at  a  very  early 
period,  to  have  travelled  so  far,  and  seen  so  much." 

"  Apron  strings"  softened  into  "  maternal  ties,"  did  not  offend 
the  surgeon's  sensibilities. 

"  A  mere  boy,  Miss  Middleton  ;  but  it  is  surprising  how  rap- 
idly a  person  acquires  knowledge,  who  starts  early  in  pursuit 
of  it.  Besides,  travelling  itself  is  a  delight — a  great  delight — 
it  would  do  you  good  to  travel.  Perhaps,  were  you  to  go 
abroad  for  a  single  year,  you  would  feel  less  surprised  at  the 
extent  of  my  acquisitions." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  do  you  really  think  so  ?" 

"  I  do  —  'pon  my  honor  I  do.  Your  place  here  is  a  very  fine 
one.  You  have,  I  understand,  some  ten  thousand  acres  in  this 
estate  —  'the  Old  Barony'  it's  called  —  slaves  in  sufficient  num- 
ber to  cultivate  it,  and  really  everything  remarkably  attractive 
and  pleasant.  I  can  very  well  understand  how  it  is  that  you 
should  not  care  to  leave  it  even  for  a  season :  but  if  you  only 
knew  what  a  joy  travelling  is — to  go  here  and  go  there — see 
this  thing  and  that — be  asked  to  this  fete  and  that  palace  — 
and  know  that  the  whole  gay  world  is  looking  for  your  presence 
and  depending  on  your  smile  ;  if  you  only  knew  this,  Miss  Mid- 
dleton, you'd  give  up  your  acres  and  your  slaves,  your  barony 
and  all  its  oaks;  think  them  all  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable  — 

yOn'd " 

"  Oh,  sir,  excuse  me.  You  are  too  eloquent.  If  I  remain 
longer,  I  shall  be  persuaded  to  go ;  and  I  must  go  in  order  to 
remain.  Good  morning,  sir.  I  trust  that  you  will  devote  your 
earliest  leisure  to  the  poor  young  woman." 

The  surgeon  bent  and  bowed  almost  to  the  ground,  while  his 
hand  was  pressed  to  his  lips  with  the  air  of  exquisite  refinement 
which  distinguished  that  period.  The  dandy  is  clearly  human. 
All  ages  have  possessed  the  creature  under  one  guise  or  another. 
The  Roman,  the  Greek,  the  Egyptian,  the  Hebrew,  all  the 
Asiatics,  .the  English,  and  the  French,  have  all  borne  testimony 
to  their  existence ;  and,  perhaps,  there  is  no  dandy  half  so  ultra 
in  his  styles  as  the  Cherokee  or  the  Chickasaw.  Nature  and  art 
both  declare  his  existence  and  recognise  his  pretensions.  In  this 
point  of  view  common  sense  can  urge  no  objections  to  him. 


304  THE   SCOUT. 

He  clearly  has  an  allotted  place  in  life  ;  and  like  the  wriggling 
worm  that  puts  on  a  purple  jacket  and  golden  wings,  though 
we  may  wonder  at  the  seeming  waste  of  so  much  wealth,  we 
can  not  deny  its  distribution,  and  must  suppose  that  the  insect 
has  its  uses,  however  unapparent.  The  exquisite  may  stand  in 
the  same  relation  to  the  human  species  as  the  jay  or  the  peacock 
among  the  birds.  These  teach  the  vanity  of  their  costume  while 
displaying  it :  as  the  man  of  sense  learns  to  avoid  the  folly, 
even  in  degree,  which  is  yet  the  glory  of  the  fool. 

"Charming  creature!"  exclaimed  the  dandy,  yawning,  and 
throwing  himself  backward  on  the  cushions  of  the  huge  sofa, 
which  stood  temptingly  contiguous  —  "Charming  creature  !  She 
deserves  some  painstaking.  Her  person  is  not  fine,  but  her 
lands  are ;  her  beauties  are  few,  but  her  slaves  are  many.  She 
is  rather  simple,  perhaps ;  but,  gad,  my  soul !  he  is  hard  indeed 
to  satisfy  whom  these  fine  grounds,  excellent  mansion,  good 
lands,  charming  groves,  and  balmy  atmosphere  would  not  recon- 
cile to  any  sacrifices.  We  must  make  it,  some  day  or  other,  all 
of  us ;  and  though,  Augustus  Hillhouse,  be  thou  not  too  nice ! 
Already  hast  thou  suffered  many  a  choice  fleshly  dainty  to  slip 
through  thy  fingers  because  of  thy  fastidious  stomach.  Beware  ! 
Thou  art  wasting  time  which  is  precious.  Age  will  come  upon 
thee  !  Age  !  ah  !" — with  a  shiver—"  it  will  need  fine  mansion, 
and  noble  park,  and  goodly  income,  to  reconcile  that  to  thy  phi- 
losophy. '  In  the  days  of  thy  youth,'  saith  the  proverb.  I  will 
take  counsel  of  it  in  season.  The  damsel's  worth  some  pains- 
taking, and  the  sacrifice  is  not  without  its  reward.  But  such  a 
gown  and  stomacher  as  she  wears !  I  must  amend  all  that. 
There  is  also  an  absence  of  finish  in  the  manner,  which  too  de- 
cidedly Betrays  the  rustic.  Her  voice,  too,  has  a  twang — a 
certain  peasant-like  sharpness,  which  grates  harshly  upon  the 
ear.  But  these  things  may  be  amended! — yes,  they  may  be 
amended.  I  must  amend  them,  certainly,  before  I  can  commit 
myself  among  my  friends ;  for  what  would  Lady  Bell,  who  is  a 
belle  no  longer,  say  to  such  a  bodice,  such  a  stomacher,  and, 
above  all,  to  a  carriage  which  shows  a  degree  of  vigor  so  utterly 
foreign  to  good  breeding.  I  must  teach  her  languor,  and  that 
will  be  the  worst  task  of  all,  for  it  will  require  exertion.  She 


SHADOWS   AND  STRAWS   UPON  THE  SURFACE.  305 

must  learn  to  lounge  with  grace,  to  sigh  with  a  faint-like  soft- 
ness, to  open  her  eyes  as  if  she  were  about  to  shut  them,  and, 
when  she  speaks,  to  let  her  words  slide  out  through  the  tips  of 
her  lips  as  if  she  were  striving  all  she  could,  short  of  positive 
effort,  to  keep  them  in.  Ah,  charming  Bell !  sweet  Lady  Char- 
lotte !  and  thou,  dearest  of  all  the  dears,  fair  Moncrieff !  —  could 
this  barony-girl  grow  wise  in  those  things  in  which  ye  are  so 
excellent,  how  much  lovelier  were  she  than  all  of  ye  !  Ye  are 
landless,  sweet  ladies — and  therefore  ye  are  loveless.  These 
acres  weigh  heavily  against  your  charms.  Augustus  Hillhouse, 
be  not  foolish  in  thy  fastidiousness.  Take  the  fruits  which  the 
gods  bestow  upon  thee,  and  quarrel  not  with  the  bounty  because 
of  the  too  much  red  upon  the  apple.  It  is  a  good  fruit,  and  the 
red  may  be  reconciled,  in  due  season,  to  a  becoming  delicacy." 

The  dandy  soliloquized  at  greater  length,  but  neither  his  eu- 
phuism nor  his  philosophy  finds  much  favor  in  our  sight.  We 
are  not  of  that  class  of  writers  who  delight  in  such  detail,  and 
we  shall  not,  accordingly — and  this  omission  may  surprise  the 
fashionable  reader — furnish  the  usual  inventory  of  Mr.  Hill- 
house's  dress  and  wardrobe.  Enough  that  it  was  ample  even 
for  his  purposes,  and  enabled  him  to  provide  a  change,  and  a 
different  color,  for  every  day  in  the  month.  He  had  his  purple 
and  his  violet,  his  green  and  his  ombre,  the  one  was  for  the  day 
of  his  valor,  the  other  for  his  sentiment,  the  third  for  his  love- 
sadness,  and  the  fourth  for  his  feeling  of  universal  melancholy. 
We  shall  only  say,  that  his  violet  was  worn  at  his  first  interview 
with  Flora  Middleton. 

While  his  head  ran  upon  his  marriage,  a  measure  which  he 
had  now  certainly  resolved  upon,  it  was  also  occupied  with  cer- 
tain incidental  and  equally  important  topics,  such  as  the  dress 
which  should  be  worn  on  such  occasion — for  the  day  of  his 
marriage  was  the  only  day  he  had  never  before  provided  for — 
and  the  subsequent  disposition  of  the  goods  and-  chattels  which 
he  was  to  take  possession  of  with  his  wife.  Stretched  at  length 
upon  the  cushions,  with  one  leg  thrown  over  an  arm  of  the  sofa, 
and  the  other  resting  upon  the  floor,  his  head  raised  upon  the 
pillows,  which  had  been  drawn  from  both  extremities  for  this 
purpose — his  eyes  half  shut  in  dreamy  languor,  and  his  lips 


306  THE   SCOUT. 

gently  moving  as  he  whispered  over  the  several  heads  of  topics 
which  engaged  his  reflection  ;  he  was  suddenly  aroused  by  hear- 
ing the  fall  of  a  light  footstep  behind  him.  At  first  he  fancied 
that  it  might  be  one  of  the  servants,  but  a  negro  is  usually  a 
heavy-heeled  personage,  who  makes  his  importance  felt  upon 
the  floor,  if  nowhere  else ;  and  when,  in  the  next  moment,  Mr. 
Augustus  Hillhouse  remembered  this  peculiarity  in  his  nature, 
he  fancied  that  the  intruder  could  be  no  other  than  the  fair  rus- 
tic whose  acres  he  was  then  disposing  of  with  the  most  mercan- 
tile facility.  Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  that  she  should 
very  soon  find  her  way  back  to  the  spot  where  it  was  possible 
to  find  him. 

Under  this  impression,  he  started  to  his  feet  with  an  air  of 
well-practised  confusion ;  and  having  been  at  some  pains  to 
throw  into  his  countenance  an  excess  of  sweetness  and  sensibil- 
ity, he  turned  his  eyes,  as  he  fancied,  upon  the  fair  intruder,  to 
meet — not  the  lady  of  his  love,  nor  one  of  the  gentler  sex  at 
all — but  a  man,  and  such  a  man ! 

Never  was  creature  so  woftilly  confounded  as  our  young  gal- 
lant. The  person  who  encountered  his  glance,  though  but  for 
an  instant  only,  was  the  very  picture  of  terror — gaunt  terror — 
lean  misery,  dark  and  cold  ferocity.  Clothed  in  the  meanest 
homespun  of  the  country,  and  that  in  tatters,  the  tall,  skeleton 
form  of  a  man,  stood  in  the  doorway,  evidently  receding  from 
the  apartment.  In  his  eyes  there  was  the  expression  of  a 
vacant  anger — something  of  disappointment  and  dislike — a  look 
of  surprise  and  dissatisfaction.  In  his  hand,  at  the  moment  of 
his  disappearance,  Mr.  Hillhouse  fancied  that  he  saw  the  sudden 
shine  of  steel.  But  lie  was  so  completely  confounded  by  the 
apparition  that  he  was  for  a  few  moments  utterly  incapable  of 
speech  ;  and  when1  he  did  speak,  the  spectre  disappeared. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want  ?"  was  the  shivering 
inquiry  which  he  made.  A  savage  grin  was  the  only  answer  of 
the  stranger,  and  the  next  instant  the  surgeon  stood  alone. 

"The  devil,  to  be  sure!"  he  exclaimed;  but,  recovering  his 
courage,  he  darted  after  his  strange  visiter.  He  rushed  into  the 
passage-way — out  into  the  porch — ran  down  the  steps,  looked 
out  into  the  court — but  in  vain.  He  could  see  nobody.  Even 


SHADOWS   AND   STRAWS   UPON  THE   SURFACE.  807 

the  sentinels,  whom  he  knew  to  have  been  placed  at  the  portals, 
front  and  rear,  were  withdrawn;  and  no  object  more  suspicious 
than  a  lame  negro  met  his  eye  in  the  whole  range  of  vision  that 
lay  within  it.  He  re-entered  the  house,  more  than  ever  satisfied 
that  he  had  been  favored  with  a  visit  from  a  personage  whose 
intimacy  implies  brimstone  and  other  combustibles  ;  and  a  sud- 
den resolution  to  resume  his  duties,  and  see  at  once  into  the 
condition  of  his  patients,  whom  he  began  to  think  he  had  too 
long  neglected,  was  the  result  of  his  supernatural  visitation. 

The  first  object  of  his  care  was  the  person  of  the  outlaw — 
not  because  of  his  superior  claims,  or  worse  condition,  but  simply 
because  he  felt  his  nerves  too  much  agitated  to  encounter  the 
young  lady  in  whose  presence  it  was  necessary  to  practise  that 
nice  and  deliberate  precision  of  tone  and  manner,  language  and 
address,  which  form  the  first  great  essentials  of  successful  senti- 
ment, in  all  ages,  when  dealing  with  the  sex.  Regarding  Wat- 
son Gray  as  a  mere  circumstance  in  a  large  collection  of  depen- 
dencies—  a  sort  of  hanging-peg,  or  resting-point,  a  mounting- 
block,  or  a  shoe-tie  in  the  grand  relationships  of  society — he  had 
no  scruple  at  exhibiting  his  real  emotions  in  his  presence ;  and 
he  poured  forth  to  the  cooler  and  more  rational  scout  the  intelli- 
gence of  which  he  was  possessed. 

Gray  regarded  the  surgeon  as  a  fool,  but  had  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  he  was  a  liar.  He  saw  no  reason  to  doubt  that  he 
had  seen  somebody,  and  concluded  that  his  alarm  had  somewhat 
magnified  the  terrors  of  what  he  saw.  But  his  description  of 
the  costume  worn  by  the  visiter  was  so  precise  and  particular, 
that  he  well  knew  that  neither  the  fears  nor  the  follies  of  the 
other  could  have  caused  his  invention  of  it ;  and,  with  graver 
looks  than  he  himself  was  aware  of,  he  descended  instantly  to 
the  lower  story. 

There  lie  found  the  sentinels,  each  at  his  post,  and  they  swore 
they  had  been  so  from  the  beginning.  This  one  circumstance 
led  the  scout  to  think  more  lightly  of  the  surgeon's  story ;  but 
there  was  still  something  in  the  description  which  had  been 
given  him  that  he  could  not  dismiss  from  his  consideration.  He 
searched  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  premises,  but  with- 
out discovering  anything  to  awaken  his  suspicions.  He  saw 


308  THE  SCOUT. 

nothing ;  but  a  keen  watchful  eye  followed  his  progress,  every 
step  which  he  made,  along  the  avenue. 

The  father  of  Mary  Clarkson  had  survived  the  conflict  of  the 
preceding  night.  It  was  his  spectre  which  had  so  fearfully 
alarmed  the  contemplative  surgeon.  He  had  good  reason  for 
his  alarm.  His  sudden  movement  alone,  which  enabled  the  vin- 
dictive old  man  to  discern  the  slight  popinjay  person  of  the  sur- 
geon, saved  him  from  the  sharp  edge  of  the  uplifted  knife.  The 
couteau  de  chasse  of  the  woodman — an  instrument  not  unlike 
the  modern  bowie-knife — had,  at  one  moment,  nearly  finished 
the  daydreams  of  Mr.  Hillhouse  and  his  life  together. 

Finding  nothing  in  his  search  like  the  object  described,  Wat- 
son Gray  was  disposed  to  think  that  the  surgeon  had  seen  one 
of  the  soldiers  on  duty,  who  had  probably  found  his  way  into 
the  mansion  with  the  view  of  employing  his  eyes  or  his  fingers 
— for  the  moral  sense  of  the  invading  army,  officers  and  soldiers, 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  very  high ;  but  this  idea  was  com- 
bated by  the  fact  that  Hillhouse  had  been  for  many  years, 
himself,  a  member  of  the  British  army,  and  knew,  as  well  as 
anybody,  the  costume  of  its  several  commands.  The  nervous 
excitement  of  the  surgeon,  which  was  not  overcome  when  Gray 
returned  to  the  chamber,  was  another  argument  against  this  no- 
tion. But  a  new  light  broke  in  upon  Watson  Gray  when  he 
remembered  the  ancient  superstition  along  the  Congaree. 

"You've  seen  the  ghost  of  the  cassique,"  he  said,  with  a  con- 
clusive shake  of  the  head;  "old  Middleton  walks,  they  say. 
I've  heard  it  a  hundred  times.  He  used  to  wear  homespun  and 
a  hunting-shirt — though  I  never  heard  it  was  ragged — and  the 
big  knife  and  rifle  were  never  out  of  his  hands.  The  Congaree 
Indians  used  to  call  him  King  Big  Knife,  and,  sure  enough,  he 
made  it  work  among  the  red  skins  whenever  they  came  about 
his  quarters  and  didn't  carry  themselves  rightly.  He  was  a 
most  famous  hunter ;  and,  between  the  bears  and  the  savages, 
the  knife  and  rifle  had  very  little  rest  with  him.  I  reckon  it's 
him  you've  seen,  though  it's  something  strange  for  a  ghost  to 
walk  in  broad  daytime." 

The  surgeon  was  not  entirely  satisfied  with  this  explanation ; 


SHADOWS   AND   STRAWS   UPON   THE   SURFACE.  309 

not  because  it  seemed  very  unreasonable,  but  simply  because  it 
clashed  with  his  habitual  philosophy. 

"  Ah,  my  good  friend,"  he  exclaimed  patronizingly,  "  I  see 
you  labor  under  some  very  vulgar  errors.  The  belief  in  ghosts 
is  entirely  done  away  with.  Ghosts,  like  continental  money, 
had  their  value  only  so  long  as  the  people  had  their  credulity. 
The  moment  you  doubt,  the  ghosts  disappear,  and  the  money  is 
rejected.  They  found  credit  only  among  a  simple  people  and 
in  the  early  stages  of  society.  As  philosophy — divine  not 
crabbed,  as  dull  fools  suppose — as  philosophy  began  to  shed 
her  beams  upon  the  world" &c. 

Watson  Gray  had  already  ceased  to  listen,  and  we  may  as 
well  follow  his  example.  Talking  still,  however,  while  working 
about  the  wounds  of  his  patient,  the  surgeon  at  length  awakened 
another  voice ;  and  the  faint,  but  coherent  words  of  the  outlaw, 
summoned  the  scout  to  his  bedside. 

"  Where  am  1 1 — what  does  all  this  mean,  Gray  ?" 

But  the  surgeon  interfered,  and  for  five  minutes  expatiated 
on  the  great  danger  to  a  patient  situated  as  he  was,  in  using  his 
own,  or  hearing  the  voice  of  any  but  his  professional  attendant. 

"  Nothing,  my  good  sir,  can  be  more  injurious  to  the  nervous 
system,  particularly  where  there~is  any  tendency  upward — any 
mounting  of  the  blood  to  the  brain !  I  have  known  numberless 
instances  where  the  results  have  been  fatal,  even  of  the  most 
trifling  conversation.  Once  in  India,  a  colonel  of  cavalry,  as 
brave  a  fellow  as  ever  lived — Monckton — a  noble  fellow — 
dressed  like  a  prince — won  every  woman  he  looked  at,  and 
was  happy  in  never  being  made  to  marry  any — he  suffered  from 
a  gunshot  wound,  got  in  a  desperate  charge  which  he  made  at 
the  head  of  his  regiment,  upon  the  native  troops.  The  rajah 
himself  fell  —  and  my  poor  friend  Monckton " 

"Pshaw  !"  feebly  exclaimed  the  outlaw,  but  with  an  emphasis 
and  manner  sufficiently  marked  to  be  offensive. 

"  Pshaw  !  pshaw  !  sir — do  you  mean  'pshaw !'  sir,  an  epithet 
of  contempt,  or " 

The  wounded  man  interrupted  him — 

"  Pray,  my  good  sir,  be  silent  for  a  moment,  while  I  hear 
what  my  friend  says.  Come  hither,  Gray." 


310  THE   SCOUT. 

"  I  warn  you,  sir — I  wash  my  hands  of  the  responsibility  !" 
exclaimed  the  now  indignant  surgeon.  "Pshaw  !  pshaw  !  —  and 
to  me !" 

"  Gray,  can't  you  turn  that  fool  fellow  from  the  room  V1  said 
Morton,  in  a  tone  which  was  only  inaudible  to  Hillhouse  from 
the  feebleness  of  the  speaker.  But  no  such  steps  were  neces- 
sary. The  indignant  surgeon  availed  himself  of  the  moment  to 
obey  the  requisition  of  Miss  Middleton,  and  visit  his  other  pa- 
tient :  and  the  outlaw  and  his  subordinate  were  left  undisturbed 
to  a  long,  and,  to  them,  not  an  uninteresting  conference. 

This  conference  had  relation  to  many  events  and  interests 
which  do  not  affect  the  progress  of  this  narrative,  and  do  not  ac- 
cordingly demand  our  attention  ;  but  we  may  add,  that  no  portion 
of  the  intelligence  which  Watson  Gray  brought  his  commander 
was  of  half  the  interest,  in  his  mind,  as  those  events  which  we 
have  previously  related,  in  the  occurrences  of  Brier  Park,  after 
the  moment  of  Edward  Morton's  insensibility. 

"  That  I  live  at  all  is  almost  miraculous,"  was  the  remark  of 
the  outlaw;  "for  I  had  goaded  him" — meaning  his  brother — 
"  almost  to  desperation,  and  when  my  hand  failed  me  I  looked 
for  death." 

"  But  why  do  this  ?"  was  the  earnest  inquiry  of  Gray ;  "why, 
when  so  much  was  at  stake  ?  I  thought  you  had  made  it  your 
chief  care,  and  believed  it  your  correct  policy,  particularly  as 
concerns  Miss  Flora,  to  keep  him  in  the  dark.  Why  tell  him 
all — why  goad  him  with  this  knowledge1?" 

"  So  it  was  my  policy,  and  so  I  had  resolved ;  but  the  devil 
and  my  own  passions  drove  me  to  do  it ;  and  some  other  feel- 
ings which  I  could  not  well  account  for.  Hate,  hate,  hate !  was 
at  the  bottom  of  all,  and  I  suppose  I  needed  blood-letting." 

"  You  have  had  it — enough  of  it." 

"Ay,  but  I  live  in  spite  of  it,  Watson  Gray,  and  I  feel  that  I 
shall  still  live.  I  shall  not  die  this  bout — not  while  I  am  here 
— here  in  the  same  house  with  7ier,  and  while  all  things  below 
are,  as  you  tell  me,  ripe  and  favorable.  This  alone  is  enough  to 
cure  wounds  thrice  as  numerous  and  thrice  as  deep  as  mine.  I 
am  here  with  her,  and  let  me  but  use  these  limbs  once  more,  and 
the  victory  and  the  prize  are  mine.  I  will  wear  them,  Watson 


SHADOWS   AND   STRAWS   UPON   THE   SURFACE.  311 

Gray,  with  a  savage  joy  which  shall  find  triumph  in  a  thousand 
feelings  which  confer  anything  but  joy.  She  shall  know,  and 
he  shall  know,  what  it  is  to  have  felt  with  feelings  such  as 
mine." 

The  outlaw  sank  backward  from  exhaustion,  and  Watson 
Gray  found  it  necessary  to  enforce  the  suggestions  of  the  sur- 
geon, and  to  impose  upon  the  speaker  that  restraint  which  his 
weakness  showed  to  be  more  than  ever  necessary.  This  was  a 
difficult  task ;  the  outlaw  being  impatient  to  hear  particulars,  and 
dilate  upon  hopes  and  passions,  which  filled  all  the  secret  avenues 
of  his  soul  with  joy  !  It  was  only  by  warning  him  of  the  dan- 
ger of  defeating  everything  by  tasking  his  powers  prematurely, 
that  he  was  subdued  to  silence ;  but  his  lips  still  worked  with 
his  desire  to  speak,  and  while  he  lay  with  shut  eyes  upon  his 
couch,  almost  fainting  with  exhaustion,  his  heart  heaved  with 
the  exulting  images  which  fancy  had  already  arrayed  before  his 
mind,  in  preparing  his  contemplated  triumph.  That  triumph 
included  the  possession  of  Flora  Middleton,  and  his  escape  with 
her,  and  other  treasures,  only  less  valuable  in  his  own  estima- 
tion, and  of  far  greater  value  in  that  of  his  confederate.  Already 
he  was  dreaming  of  groves  in  the  West  Indian  islands ;  of  a 
safe  retreat  from  the  snares  of  enemies ;  and  of  the  possession 
of  those  charms  which  had  equally  warmed  his  mind  and  his 
passions.  Dreaming,  he  slept ;  and  Watson  Gray  availed  him- 
self of  his  repose  to  snatch  a  brief  hour  of  oblivion  from  the 
same  auspicious  influence. 


312  THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

GUILT,    AND    ITS    VICTIM. 

THE  course  of  the  surgeon,  when  he  left  the  chamber  of  the  out- 
law, was  taken,  as  we  have  seen,  to  the  apartment  of  his  other 
patient.  The  indignation  which  he  felt  at  the  conduct  of  Mor- 
ton, in  rejecting,  in  terms  of  such  contempt,  his  counsel  to  silence; 
expedited  his 'movements,  and,  muttering  while  he  went,  the  dis- 
comfiture which  he  felt,  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  'of 
Miss  Middleton  before  he  had  entirely  smoothed  his  ruffled  front 
for  such  a  meeting.  But  Mr.  Hillhouse  prided  himself  on  his 
possession  of  all  those  nice  requisities  which  constitute,  par  ex- 
cellence, the  essentials  of  ladies-man.  Among  these  may  be 
reckoned  a  countenance  which  no  unruly  passions  could  ever 
discompose.  He  started,  with  an  air  of  studied,  theatrical  mod- 
esty, when,  at  the  entrance  of  the  chamber,  he  saw  the  young 
lady; — passed  his  kerchief  once  over  his  face,  and  the  magic 
consequences  of  such  a  proceeding,  were  instantly  apparent. 
The  wrinkles  and  frowns  had  all  disappeared,  and  sweet  senti- 
ment and  deliberate  love  alone  appeared  upon  that  territory 
which  they  had  unbecomingly  usurped.  The  surgeon  approached 
trippingly,  and  in  a  half  whisper  to  Flora,  communicated  his 
apologies. 

"  I  still  tremble,  Miss  Middleton,  for  I  had  almost  ventured 
into  your  presence  with  an  angry  visage.  The  truth  is,  I  am 
sometimes  susceptible  of  anger.  My  patient  in  the  opposite 
apartment  proves  to  be  unruly.  He  has  annoyed  me.  He  re- 
jects good  counsel,  and  he  who  rejects  counsel  need  not  take 
physic.  Counsel,  Miss  Middleton,  has  been  happily  designated, 
the  physic  of  the  soul,  and  should  never  be  rejected " 

"Except,  perhaps,  when  given  as  physic,  sir;  —  but  will  you 
look  at  this  poor  young  woman.  I  am  afraid  you  can  do  but 
little  for  her.  She  grows  worse  every  moment." 


GUILT,  AND   ITS   VICTIM.  313 

"  A-hem  !  —  The  limit  to  human  art  has  not  yet  been  found, 
Miss  Middleton.  The  patient  has  frequently  been  rescued  from 
the  very  fingers  of  death.  My  own  successes  in  this  respect 
have  been  numerous  and  remarkable.  I  remember  once  in 
Ceylon,  sometime  in  the  autumn  of  1772,  I  had  a  case  of  this 
very  sort,  and  a  young  woman  too.  She  fractured  her  skull  by 
falling  from  a  window,  in  an  effort  to  reach  her  lover.  The 
affair  occasioned  not  a  little  sensation  at  the  time.  The  parties 
were  something  more  than  respectable  on  all  sides ;  but  an  un- 
conquerable aversion  to  her  lover  which  her  father  entertained, 
threatened  to  defeat  their  desires.  You  need  not  be  told,  Miss 
Middleton,  that  where  a  young  woman  loves,  she  will  do  any- 
thing to  secure  the  object  of  her  attachment.  He  was  worthy 
of  her.  He  was  an  Irishman,  his  name  Macartney — and  cer- 
tainly, for  that  day,  had ,  the  most  inimitable  taste  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  his  cravat,  of  any  man  I  ever  knew.  He  could 
make  a  pendant  to  it,  a  sort  of  nceud  Gordienne,  which  I  would 
defy  the  prettiest  fingers  in  the  world  to  unravel.  The  knot 
appeared  like  a  ball,  a  single  globe,  from  which  hung  two  lappets, 
being  the  open  ends  of  the  kerchief.  Sometimes,  with  singular 
ingenuity,  he  would  alter  the  design  so  as  to  leave  but  one  lap- 
pet, and  then,  it  might  be  likened  to  a  comet,  with  a  tail — such 
a  one  as  I  saw  at  Paris,  in  1769.  I  doubt  if  you  were  then 
quite  old  enough  to  have  seen  that  comet,  but  you  may  have 
heard  of  it.  It  had  a  most  prodigious  tail — fully  sixty  degrees 
in  length,  as  computed  by  the  astronomers." 

It  was  with  a  degree  of  disgust,  almost  amounting  to  loathing, 
that  Flora  Middleton  listened  to  the  stuff  of  the  voluble  ex- 
quisite, poured  forth  all  the  while  that  he  pursued  his  examina- 
tion into  the  hurts  of  his  patient.  It  seemed  shocking  that  one 
could  speak  at  such  a  moment,  on  any  subject  but  such  as  was 
essential  to  the  successful  performance  of  the  task  in  hand ;  but 
that  he  should  enlarge  on  such  wretched  follies,  with  so  much 
suffering  before  his  eyes,  seemed  to  her  still  more  shocking, 
strange,  and  unnatural. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Flora  Middleton  was  a  country- 
girl,  to  whom  the  resources  and  employments  of  the  conven- 
tional world  of  fashion,  were  almost  entirely  unknown,  except 

14 


814  THE   SCOUT. 

from  books ;  and  if  she  heard  anything  of  such  extravagancies 
in  them,  they  were  very  likely  to  be  thrown  by,  as  too  silly  for 
perusal,  and  too  idle  for  belief.  The  plaintive  moans  and  oc- 
casional ejaculations  of  the  poor  girl  offered  the  only  interrup- 
tion to  the  garrulity  of  the  surgeon,  but  did  not  seem  to  awaken 
any  feeling.  He  commented  on  this  insensibility,  by  a  quota- 
tion from  Shakspeare,  which  served  for  the  time  to  divert  him 
entirely  from  the  subject. 

" '  How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man  !'  I  do  believe,  Miss 
Middleton,  though  I  should  think  just  as  much  of  her  as  before, 
and  feel  just  as  desirous  of  doing  her  a  service,  that  I  could 
take  off  the  leg  of  my  grandmother  with  as  much  composure  and 
indifference,  as  perform  on  the  most  indifferent  stranger.  Did 
you  ever  have  a  tooth  drawn,  Miss  Middleton  1" 

He  urged  this  question  with  great  gravity,  but  did  not  wait 
for  the  answer. 

"A  painful  operation  to  the  patient,  decidedly,  and  the  only 
surgical  operation  which  I  have  any  reluctance  to  perform.  My 
objection  arose  from  a  very  rational  circumstance.  When  in 
my  teens,  and  a  student — a  time  as  you  perceive  not  very 
remote,  Miss  Middleton,  though  my  worldly  experience  has  been 
so  extensive  and  so  rapid — I  was  called  upon  to  extract  a  tooth 
from  the  mouth  of  a  young  lady,  the  daughter  of  a  singing- 
master  in  Bath.  She  was  very  nervous,  and  gave  me  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  to  get  her  to  submit.  But  I  had  scarcely  got 
my  finger  into  her  mouth — being  about  to  use  the  lancet — 
when — look  what  a  mark  !" — showing  his  finger — "  it  will  last 
me  to  my  grave,  aud,  as  you  see,  disfigures  terribly  the  entire 
member  !  —  She  closed  her  jaw  upon  me,  and — ah  !  I  feel  the 
thrill  of  horror  even  now,  which  seemed  to  run  through  my 
whole  system.  Nay,  by  my  faith,  would  you  think  it — not 
content  with  taking  hold,  she  seemed  no  way  disposed  to  let  go 
again,  and  it  was  only  by  main  force  that  she  was  persuaded  to 
recollect  that  my  finger  had  no  real  or  natural  connection  with 
her  incisors.  Young  ladies  are  said  to  keep  possession  of  their 
favorites  with  a  tenacity  peculiar  to  themselves,  but  a  mode  like 
this,  Miss  Middleton,  you  will  readily  admit,  was  neither  loving 
nor  ladylike." 


GUILT,   AND    ITS   VICTIM.  315 

As  she  looked  and  listened,  Flora  could  scarce  forbear  the 
exclamation  of  "unfeeling  fool ;"  while  the  reflection  which  has 
occurred  to  every  mind  which  has  ever  observed  and  thought, 
suggested  to  hers  the  strong  identity  which  exists  between  the 
extremely  callous  and  cold  nature,  and  that  in  which  levity 
seems  a  leading  characteristic.  The  extremes  inevitably  meet. 
The  bear  can  dance,  and  the  monkey,  which  is  one  of  the  most 
sportive,  if  not  the  most  formidable,  is  one  of  the  most  malignant 
of  the  wild  tribes  of  the  forest.  A  frivolous  people  is  apt  to  be 
a  savage  people,  and  the  most  desperate  Indian  warriors  prefer 
the  looking-glass  worn  about  their  necks  to  any  other  ornament. 

While  the  surgeon  was  prating  in  this  fashion,  he  was  extort- 
ing groans  from  the  poor  girl  whose  hurts  he  examined  without 
seeming  to  be  conscious  of  the  pain  he  gave ;  and  the  finger 
which  he  presented  for  examination  as  that  which  had  so  much 
suffered  from  the  jaws  of  the  lady  of  Bath  was  stained  with  the 
crimson  hues  from  the  fractured  skull  which  he  had  been  feel- 
ing. Mr.  Hillhouse  was  considered  a  good  surgeon  in  the  Brit- 
ish army ;  and,  it  may  be,  that  the  very  callosity  which  shocked 
the  sensibilities  of  Flora  Middleton,  would  not  only  commend 
him  to  the  rough  soldier,  who  acquires  from  his  daily  practice  an 
habitual  scorn  of  the  more  becoming  humanities,  but  was,  indeed, 
onexause  of  his  being  an  excellent  operator.  His  skill,  how- 
ever, promised  to  avail  nothing  in  behalf  of  his  female  patient ; 
and  when,  at  length,  after  a  thousand  episodes,  Flora  obtained 
from  him  his  final  opinion,  though  it  said  nothing,  it  signified 
much. 

The  mournful  presentiments  of  the  poor  girl,  expressed  to  her 
betrayer  but  a  few  days  before,  promised  to  be  soon  realized. 
Her  wounds,  mental  and  bodily,  were  mortal.  Her  mind  was 
gone.  Her  body  was  sinking  fast.  The  seat  of  reason  was 
usurped  by  its  worst  foe ;  aud  delirium  raved  with  unabashed 
front  and  unabashed  presence,  over  the  abandoned  empire  of 
thought.  Wild  and  wretched  were  the  strange  and  incoherent 
expressions  which  fell  from  her  lips.  Now  she  spoke  of  her 
childhood,  now  of  her  father ;  and  when  she  spoke  of  him,  her 
eyes  would  unclose,  and  shudderingly  steal  a  hasty  glance  for  a 
few  moments  around  the  chamber — meeting  the  gaze  of  Flora 


316  THE  SCOUT. 

Middleton,  they  would  suddenly  turn  aside,  or  fold  themselves 
up  again,  as  if  anxious  to  exclude  a  painful  object  from  their 
survey. 

But  there  was  one  name  which,  like  the  keynote  in  an  elab- 
orate strain  of  artificial  music,  sounded  ever  preclusive  to  the 
rest ;  and  the  keen  ear  of  Flora  heard  with  surprise  the  frequent 
iteration,  in  tones  of  the  most  touching  tenderness  and  entreaty, 
of  the  name  of  Edward.  Never  once  did  the  listener  conjecture 
to  whom  this  name  applied.  It  was  the  name  of  the  father, 
perhaps  the  brother,  the  dear  friend;  but  never  once  did  she 
fancy  the  true  relation  which  made  it  dear,  and  fatal  as  it  was 
dear,  to  the  unhappy  victim.  Could  she  have  guessed  the  truth 
— could  she  have  dreamed,  or  in  any  way  been  led  to  a  presci- 
ence of  the  truth — how  would  that  suffering,  but  proud  heart, 
have  melted  at  the  stern  cruelty  which  its  injustice  was  mo- 
mently doing  to  the  faithful  but  absent  lover !  Her  meditations 
were  those  of  the  unsophisticated  and  pure-souled  woman. 

"  I  will  not  let  her  suffer,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  while  she 
sad  beside  the  dying  creature.  "  I  will  not  let  her  suffer,  though, 
poor  victim,  she  little  fancies  how  much  suffering  her  presence 
brings  to  me.  Her  miserable  fall,  and  wretched  fortunes,  shall 
not  make  her  hateful  in  my  sight.  God  keep  me  from  such 
cruel  feelings,  and  strengthen  me  against  temptation.  Let  me 
treat  her  kindly,  and  not  remember  to  her  detriment  that  Clar- 
ence Conway  has  been  her  destroyer.  0,  Clarence,  Clarence  ! 
You,  of  whom  I  thought  such  pure  and  noble  thoughts — you, 
who  seemed  to  me  so  like  a  man  in  excellence — as  man  was 
when  he  spoke  unabashed  in  the  presence  of  the  angels — how 
could  you  stoop  to  this  baseness,  and  riot  on  the  poor  victim, 
abusing  the  fond  attachment  which  proved  her  only  weakness, 
and  which,  in  the  eye  of  him  she  loved,  should  have  been  her 
chief  security  and  strength." 

Had  Flora  Middleton  lived  more  in  the  world,  and  in  the 
great  cities  thereof,  she  might  have  been  less  severe  in  examin- 
ing the  supposed  conduct  of  her  lover.  Her  soliloquy  might 
have  been  softened,  as  she  reflected  upon  the  numbers  among 
her  sex,  vicious  and  artful,  who  save  the  betrayer  some  of  his 
toils,  and  are  caught  sometimes  in  their  artifices  ;•  but  of  this 


GUILT,   AND   ITS   VICTIM.  317 

class  of  persons  she  had  no  knowledge,  and  did  not  even  con- 
jecture their  existence.  She  took  it  for  granted  that  Clarence 
Conway  was  the  one  who  was  wholly  guilty — his  victim  was 
only  weak  through  the  strength  of  her  attachment.  The  warmth 
of  her  own  regards  for  her  lover  enabled  her  to  form  a  correct 
idea  of  that  overpowering  measure  which  had  been  the  poor 
girl's  destruction ;  and  thinking  thus,  she  had  no  indulgence  for 
him,  whom  she  regarded  as  one  recklessly,  and  without  qualifi- 
cation, wicked. 

But  the  truth  is,  even  Edward  Morton,  the  real  wrong-doer, 
had  not,  in  this  case,  deserved  entirely  this  reproach.  There 
was  some  truth  in  the  sarcasm  which  he  uttered  to  Mary  Clark- 
son,  when  he  told  her  that  her  own  vanity  had  had  considerable 
part  in  her  overthrow.  She  felt  the  partial  truth  of  the  accusa- 
tion, and  her  own  reproaches  followed  on  her  lips.  It  would  be 
doing  injustice  to  the  outlaw,  were  we  to  describe  him  as  indif- 
ferent to  her  situation.  There  was  still  something  human  in  his 
nature  —  some  portion  of  his  heart  not  utterly  ossified  by  the 
selfishness  which  proved  its  chief  characteristic.  In  the  long 
and  earnest  conversation  which  followed,  between  him  and  his 
confidante  in  his  chamber  after  the  exclusion  of  the  surgeon,  he 
had  asked  and  received  all  the  information  which  could  be  given 
on  the  subject  of  the  events  which  had  made  Mary  Clarkson  a 
victim  to  a  like  misfortune,  and  in  consequence  of  the  same  cir- 
cumstances, with  himself.  He  did  not  know  the  fact,  nor  could 
Watson  Gray  inform  him,  that  she  received  her  hurts  because 
of  the  feeble  attempt  which  she  made  to  come  to  his  relief.  But, 
all  the  circnmstances  led  to  this  conviction,  and  when  the  outlaw 
resurveyed  the  ground  over  which  he  had  gone,  and  her  unvary- 
ing devotedness  through  the  long  and  perilous  period  of  strife, 
toil,  and  danger,  which  had  marked  his  footsteps; — when  he 
remembered  how  many  had  been  her  sacrifices,  how  firm  ,had 
been  her  faith — the  only  one  true,  amid  the  many  false  or 
doubtful,  and  only  seaured  by  purchase; — when  the  same  train 
of  thought  reminded  him  that,  for  all  this  devotion,  she  had  re- 
ceived few  smiles,  and  no  love,  from  the  very  person  for  whom 
alone  she  smiled,  and  who  monopolized,  without  knowing  how 
to  value,  all  the  love  of  which  she  was  capable; — it  was  then, 


318  THE  SCOUT. 

possibly  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  the  cold  and  keen  re- 
proaches of  remorse  touched  his  heart. 

"  I  have  done  the  poor  creature  wrong — I  have  not  valued 
her  as  she  deserved.  See  to  her,  Gray,  for  God's  sake,  and  let 
not  that  fool  of  a  surgeon,  if  he  can  do  anything,  spare  his  ef- 
forts. If  she  survives  I  will  make  amends  to  her.  I  will  treat 
her  more  kindly ;  for  never  has  poor  creature  been  more  faith- 
ful ;  and  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  she  must  have  been  hurt  in 
some  idle  attempt  to  come  to  my  succor.  You  say  y0u  found 
her  on  the  same  spot  ?" 

"  Very  nearly." 

"  Surely,  Clarence  Conway  could  not  have  drawn  weapon 
upon  her!" 

"  You  forget.  She  was  dressed  in  men's  clothes,  and  in  the 
darkness  of  the  evening." 

"Yes,  yes — but  still  a  mere  boy  in  appearance,  and  there 
never  was  a  brighter  moonlight.  Nobody  would  have  used 
deadly  weapon  upon  one  whose  form  was  so  diminutive  and  evi- 
dently feeble.  She  was  sick,  too — she  told  me  so;  but  I  had 
heard  her  complain  so  often,  that  I  gave  her  no  credit  for  sin- 
cerity, and  sent  her  back  to  watch  those  d — d  plotting  scoundrels 
in  the  swamp.  Would  the  fiends  had  them  !" 

We  need  not  pursue  this  dialogue  farther.  The  exhaustion 
of  the  outlaw  left  him  temporarily  oblivious  on  the  subject  of 
the  girl ;  but,  towards  evening,  starting  up  from  a  brief,  uneasy 
slumber,  his  first  inquiry  was  into  her  condition.  When  told  that 
her  skull  was  fractured,  that  she  was  raging  with  fever  and  de- 
lirium, the  outlaw  sank  back,  shut  his  eyes,  and,  though  awake, 
lay  in  a  rigid  silence,  which  showed  the  still  active  presence  of 
those  better  feelings  of  which  it  was  his  misfortune  to  possess 
but  few,  and  those  too  feeble  for  efficient  and  beneficial  service. 
How  small  was  their  effect,  may  be  judged  from  the  success  of 
the  means  employed  by  Watson  Gray  to  divert  his  mind  from 
the  gloomy  fit  into  which  he  seemed  to  have  fallen.  That 
vicious  adherent  seized  the  moment  to  inform  him  of  the  steps 
he  had  taken  to  lay  the  wrong  done  her  innocence  at  the  door 
of  Clarence  Conway,  and  to  convey  this  impression  to  Flora 
Middleton.  The  exultation  of  a  selfish  hope  came  in  to  silence 


319 

remorse,  and  the  outlaw  opened  his  eyes  to  eulogize  the  prompt 
villany  of  his  confederate. 

"  A  good  idea  that,  and  it  can  do  poor  Mary  no  harm  now ; 
and  how  looks  Flora  since  she  heard  it  ]  Have  you  seen  her 
since  ?" 

"  Yes :  she  looks  twice  as  tall,  and  ten  times  as  haughty  as 
before." 

"  Flora  Middleton  to  the  life  !  The  Semiramis  or  Zenobia  of 
the  Congaree.  As  proud  as  either  of  those  dark,  designing 
dames  of  antiquity.  She  fancied  that  you  were  pitying  her 
whenever  your  eyes  turned  upon  her  face,  and  after  that  her 
only  effort  was  to  make  herself  seem  as  insensible  and  indiffer- 
ent as  if  she  never  had  a  heart.  Ah !  Gray,  my  good  fellow, 
only  get  me  on  my  legs  again  before  E-awdon  is  compelled  to 
take  to  his,  and  if  I  do  not  carry  the  proud  damsel  off  from  all 
of  them,  I  deserve  to  lose  all  future  stakes  as  well  as  all  the 
profits  of  the  past.  Keep  that  fool  fellow  of  a  surgeon  from 
probing  me,  simply  that  he  may  use  his  instrument  and  fingers, 
and  let  him  only  do  what  you  think  necessary  or  useful.  I 
can't  well  believe  that  such  a  civet-scented  thing  as  that  can 
possibly  be  of  any  use,  except  to  wind  silk,  or  tend  upon 
poodles ;  and  would  sooner  have  your  doctoring  than  that  of 
the  whole  tribe.  Get  me  my  limbs  again,  and  the  rest  is  easy." 

What  was  that  rest  1  What  were  those  hopes  which  gave 
such  a  tone  of  exultation  to  the  voice  and  language  of  the 
wounded  man?  We  need  not  anticipate.  The  conjecture  is 
only  too  easy.  What  should  they  be,  springing  in  such  a  rank 
soil,  and  born  of  such  seed  as  his  criminal  hands  had  planted  ] 
Dark,  deep,  and  reckless,  was  the  determination  of  his  soul ;  and 
wily,  in  the  highest  degree,  was  the  confederate  to  whose  aid  in 
particular,  its  execution  was  to  be  intrusted.  At  this  moment 
it  need  only  be  said  that,  in  the  mind  of  the  conspirators,  noth- 
ing appeared  to  baffle  their  desires  but  the  condition  of  their 
chief.  All  things  seemed  easy.  The  fortune  they  implored, 
the  fiend  they  served,  the  appetite  which  prompted,  and  the 
agents  they  employed,  all  subservient,  were  all  in  waiting ;  and 
he  who,  of  all,  was  to  be  most  gratified  by  their  services — he 
alone  was  unable  to  make  them  available.  Well  might  he  curse 


320  THE   SCOUT. 

the  folly  which* had  brought  him  to  his  present  state,  and  de- 
nounce the  feebleness  which  delayed  the ,  last  and  crowning 
achievement  on  which  his  hopes  and  desires  were  now  set.  His 
soul  chafed  with  impatience.  He  had  no  resources  from  thought 
and  contemplation.  He  could  curse,  but  he  could  not  pray ; 
and  curses,  as  the  Arabian  proverb  truly  describes  them,  are  like 
chickens,  that  invariably  come  home  to  roost.  They  brought 
neither  peace  nor  profit  to  the  sick  bed  of  the  invalid,  and  they 
kept  refreshing  slumbers  from  his  pillow. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

PHILOSOPHICAL    DOUBTS    AND   INQUIRIES. 

THE  angry  feelings  which  the  conduct  of  the  outlaw  had 
produced  in  the  bosom  of  Mr.  Surgeon  Hillhouse,  had  driven, 
for  the  time,  another  affair  from  his  recollection  about  which  he 
was  particularly  desirous  to  speak  with  Miss  Middleton  or  her 
grandmother.  A  ramble  in  the  woods  that  same  morning  en- 
abled him  to  recover  his  temper  and,  with  it,  his  recollection ; 
and  when  the  dinner  things  were  removed  that  day,  he  fairly 
conducted  the  old  lady  to  the  sofa,  placed  himself  beside  her, 
and  with  looks  big  with  the  sagacious  thought,  and  busy  spec- 
ulation, he  propounded  himself  as  follows  in  a  language  some- 
what new  to  him,  of  sententious  inquiry. 

"Mrs.  Middleton — madam — pray  oblige  me  by  letting  me 
know  what  sort  of  a  looking  person  was  your  grandfather?" 

"My  grandfather,  sir — my  grandfather!" 

I  "  Yes,  madam,  your  grandfather — how  did  he  look — how 
did  he  dress — was  he  tall  or  short — stout  or  slender.  Did  he 
wear  breeches  of  blue  homespun,  a  tattered  hunting  shirt  of  the 
same  color  and  stuff;  and^was  his  couteau  de  ckasse  as  long  as 
my  arEd  ?" 

"  MJ-  grandfather,  sir  !     Why,  sir,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 


PHILOSOPHICAL   DOUBTS   AND   INQUIRIES.  321 

"No  harm,  no  offence,  believe  me,  Mrs.  Middleton — on  the 
contrary,  my  question  is  prompted  by  grave  doubts,  and  dif- 
ficulties, and,  possibly,  dangers !  No  idle  or  impertinent  curi- 
osity occasions  it.  Philosophy  is  seriously  interested  in  your 
reply." 

"  My  grandfather,  sir — why  he  has  been  dead  these  hundred 
years !  I  do  not  think  I  ever  saw  him." 

"  Dead  a  hundred  years  !  Impossible  !  Eh  !  How  can  that 
be  V  demanded  the  surgeon  in  astonishment  scarcely  less  than 
that  which  the  old  lady  herself  had  manifested  at  the  beginning ; 
—  "dead  a  hundred  years]  Really,  Mrs.  Middleton — there 
must  be  some  mistake." 

"  Indeed,  sir — then  it  is  yours,  not  mine.  My  grandfather 
has  been  dead  more  than  a  hundred  years.  He  died  in  France 
somewhere  in  1680  —  or  '81 " 

"  Oh  he  died  in  France,  did  he  ?  You  are  right,  madam,  there 
is  a  mistake,  and  it  is  mine.  To  be  sure  it  was  not  your  grand- 
father—  if  he  died  in  France  —  about  whom  I  wished  to  know; 
— it  was  Miss  Middleton's  grandfather." 

"My  husband,  sir!"  said  the  old  lady  bridling  with  dignity, 
while  her  keen  gray  eyes  flashed  with  all  the  vivacity  of  girl- 
hood, as  she  conjectured  the  utterance  of  something  impertinent 
from  her  companion.  The  surgeon  felt  his  dilemma. 

"Your  husband,  Mrs.  Middleton,"  he  stammered — "Can  it 
be  ?  Miss  Middleton's  grandfather  your  husband  ?" 

"  And  why  not,  sir,  when  I  have  the  honor  to  be  her  grand- 
mother 1" 

"  True,  true,  most  true,  madam,  but " 

"  It  does  not  alter  the  case  very  materially,  sir,  so  far  as  you 
are  interested.  Your  right  is  just  as  great  to  inquire  into  the 
private  history  of  her  grandfather  as  of  mine.  Pray,  proceed  in 
your  questions,  sir,  if  as  you  think,  so  much  depends  upon  it. 
We  are  retired  country  people,  it  is  true,  Mr.  Millhouse " 

"  Hillhouse,  madam — Augustus  Hillhouse,  of  his  majesty's — " 

"  Pardon  me,  sir — Mr.  Hillhouse — I  was  simply  about  to 
encourage  you  to  ask  your  question  by  assuring  you  that,  though 
retired  and  rustic,  we  are  still  not  utterly  insensible,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Congaree,  to  the  claims  of  philosophy.  J  trust 

14* 


322  THE  SCOUT. 

to  see  her  schools  established  here  before  I  die,*  and  may,  pos- 
sibly, have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you,  yourself,  expounding 
from  one  or  other  of  her  sacred  chairs." 

The  surgeon  bowed  low  at  the  unexpected  compliment  with- 
out perceiving  the  smile  of  irony  by  which  it  was  accompanied. 

"Ah,  madam,  you  do  me  too  much  honor.  I  am  but  poorly 
fitted  for  the  high  station  which  you  speak  of.  It  is  true,  I  am 
not  indifferently  read ;  I  have  seen  the  world — a  fair  proportion 
of  it  at  least ;  and  am  considered  very  generally  as  a  man  fond 
of  serious  and  severe  investigations  in  the  kindred  temples  of 
science  and  of  nature,  but " 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  have  no  sort  of  doubt  that  you  will  do  well  in  any 
of  the  departments,  and  if  ever  we  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to 
obtain  our  liberties  again,  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  be  thought 
of  for  some  such  situation." 

"  Ahem  !  —  ahem !     Liberties  ! — ah  ! — ahem  ! ' ' 

The  termination  of  the  sentence,  which  intimated  a  hope  of 
British  expulsion,  was  scarcely  palatable  to  the  surgeon. 

"  But,  sir,  on  the  subject  of  Miss  Middleton's  grandfather — 
my  husband — the  late  General  Middleton — what  would  you 
please  to  know  ?" 

"Ahem — why,  madam,  the  case  presents  itself  in  an  aspect 
of  increased  difficulty.  I  had  somehow  confused  it  at  first,  and 
fancied  when  I  spoke  that  I  was  addressing  you  on  the  subject 
of  a  very  ancient  relation.  The  connection  being  so  close " 

"  Makes  no  sort  of  difference,  sir,  if  your  question  conveys 
nothing  disrespectful." 

The  reply  of  the  old  lady  bewildered  the  surgeon  yet  further. 
He  was  not  sure  that  something  disrespectful  might  not  be  con- 
veyed to  a  very  sensitive  and  jealous  mind,  in  any  form  of  the 
question,  which  was  to  solve  his  difficulties.  In  this  state  of  be- 
wilderment, with  something  of  desperation  in  his  air,  he  pro- 
posed another  inquiry,  seemingly  so  foreign  to  the  previous  topic 

*  A  hope  which  the  venerable  lady  in  question  lived  to  realize.  The  College 
of  South  Carolina,  at  Columbia,  has  been  long-  in  successful  operation,  and  has 
the  good  fortune  to  have  sent  forth  some  of  the  best  scholars  and  ablest  states- 
men in  the  Union.  Its  increasing  prosperity  induces  the  confident  assurance 
that  it  A^ll  long  continue  a  career  of  so  much  usefulness  and  good. —  EDITOR 


PHILOSOPHICAL  DOUBTS  AND   INQUIRIES.  323 

that  Mrs.  Middleton  began  to   think  him  insane    as  well   as 
silly." 

"  Mrs.  Middleton,  do  you  believe  in  ghosts  V 
"  Grhosts,  sir !  —  a  very  singular  question." 
"  Exactly  so,  madam,  but  it  is  a  part  of  the  subject." 
"Indeed,  sir!" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  and  I  should  be  really  very  grateful  if  you 
would  say  whether  you  do  or  do  not  believe  in  that  supernatu- 
ral presence — that  spectral  visitation — that  independent  embodi- 
ment, in  shape  of  limbs,  sinews  and  substance,  of  the  immortal 
spirit — which  is  vulgarly  entitled  an  apparition,  or  ghost?  Pro- 
fessionally, madam,  as  a  surgeon,  I'm  not  prepared  to  look  fur- 
ther than  the  physical  organization  for  the  governing  powers  of 
the  human  form.  A  soul  is  a  something  that  has  eluded  hitherto 
all  the  search  of  the  anatomist,  and  the-  only  authority  which 
exists  for  such  an  agent,  seems  to  me  to  be  derived  from  testi- 
monials, more  or  less  authenticated,  of  the  presence  and  reap- 
pearance of  those  whom  we  have  considered  dead,  and  no  longer 
capable  of  the  uses  and  purposes,  the  feelings  and  the  desires, 
of  ordinary  life.  Now,  madam,  something  of  my  first  inquiry 
depends  upon  my  last.  Pray  oblige  me,  then,  by  saying  whether 
you  do  or  do  not  believe  in  this  marvellous  anomaly.  Do  you 
believe  in  ghosts  or  not  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  to  oblige  you,  though  I  am  at  a  loss  to  see  the 
connection  between  the  one  question  and  the  other- " 

"It's  there — there  is  a  connection,  believe  me." 

"  Well,  sir,  under  your  assurance,  or  without  it,  I  can  have  no 
objection  to  say  that  I  am  very  doubtful  what  to  believe  on 
such  a  subject.  So  much  has  been  said  on  both  sides — and  I 
have  heard  so  many  wonderful  stories  about  such  things,  from 
persons  of  such  excellent  credit,  that " 

"  Enough,  enough,  madam ;  I  see  you  are  not  altogether  in- 
credulous. Now  tell  me,  madam,  did  you  ever  yourself  see  a 
ghost?" 

"Never,  sir." 

"Never! — nor  any  thing,  shape,  substance,  or  person,  that 
ever  looked  like  one,  or  looked  like  nothing  else  but  one,  or  that 
you  had  reason  to  suppose  was  one,  or  that  resembled  any  de- 


324  THE  SCOUT. 

parted  friend,  relative,  tie,  connection,  dependence — in  short, 
did  you  never  see  anything  that  a  suspicious  mind  might  not 
have  readily  taken  for  a  ghost  ?" 

"  Never,  sir,  to  my  recollection." 

"Well,  madam,"  continued  the  surgeon,  taking  courage  from 
his  own  motion,  "  on  your  answer  will  depend  the  very  impor- 
tant doubt  whether  I,  Augustus  Hillhouse,  second  surgeon  in  his 
majesty's  87th  regiment  of  foot,  have  not  been  favored  by  the 
visitation  of  the  late  General  Middleton " 

"  Sir !"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  rising  with  a  most  queenly  air 
of  dignity  and  pride. 

"Yes,  madam,  that's  it !"  replied  the  surgeon,  rising  also,  and 
rubbing  his  hands  together  earnestly.  "Here,  while  I  lay  on 
this  very  sofa,  this  very  morning,  after  the  breakfast  was  over, 
and  Miss  Middleton  had  gone — here,  alone,  I  was  favored  by 
the  sudden  presence  of  one  who  might  have  risen  from  the  floor, 
and,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  sunk  into  it ;  who  might  Jiave  been, 
nay,  as  I  have  heard,  must  have  been; — but  on  this  head  I 
would  have  your  testimony,  and  for  this  reason  did  I  desire 
to  learn  from  you  in  what  costume  it  was  usually  the  cus- 
tom for  General  Middleton  to  appear?  Oblige  me,  my  dear 
madam,  by  a  clear  and  particular  description  of  his  dress,  his 
weapons,  his  height,  breadth,  general  appearance,  the  length  of 
his  nose,  and  of  his  hunting-knife " 

"  Sir,  this  freedom — this  scandalous  freedom  !"  exclaimed  the 
venerable  matron. 

"  Do  not  be  offended,  Mrs.  Middleton.  I  am  governed,  my 
dear  madam,  by  no  motives  but  those  of  the  philosopher.  I 
would  thank  you,  then " 

"  Sir,  I  must  leave  you.  You  trespass,  sir,  beyond  your  priv- 
ilege. The  subject  is  a  sacred  one  with  the  widow.  Let  me 
hear  no  more  of  it." 

"But,  my  dear  madam — one  question  only  : — was  he  a  tall 
person,  slender,  rather  scant  of  frame — such  a  person  as  is  vul- 
garly called:  raw-boned " 

"  No  more,  Mr.  Hillhouse,  if  you  please." 

"But  his  dress,  madam — and  his  nose." 

"  Good  morning,  sir." 


PHILOSOPHICAL   DOUBTS  AND   INQUIRIES.  325 

"  His  knife — was  it  long,  very  long — long  as  my  arm  ?" 
The  matron  bowed,  as  she  was  retiring,  with  a  stern  glance 
of  her  gray  eye,  which  would  have  confounded  any  person  but 
one  so  thoroughly  absorbed  in  his  philosophical  follies  as  to  be 
utterly  incapable  of  observation.  He  pursued  her  to  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  with  a  degree  of  impetuous  eagerness,  which  almost 
made  the  old  lady  fancy  that  he  purposely  sought  to  offend  and 
annoy  her— a  conjecture  which  by  no  means  served  to  lessen 
the  hauteur  of  he'r  retiring  movements. 

"  But,  my  dear  madam,  one  word  only" — implored  the  sur- 
geon in  an  agony  of  entreaty — "touching  his  costume  ;  only  say 
whether  it  was  of  blue  homespun,  rather  lightish  in  hue ;  were 
his  smallclothes  rather  scantish,  and  of  the  same  color;  —  and 
his  hunting  frock — was  it  not  a  little  tattered  and  torn  about 
the  skirts,  and  on  the  shoulder1? — and 

'  She  goes,  and  makes  no  sign  !'  " 

was  the  sad  quotation  from  Shakspere,  with  which  he  concluded, 
and  which  fitly  described  the  inflexible  silence  in  which  the 
matron  effected  her  departure. 

"  Devilish  strange  animal  is  woman !  Here  now  is  a  question 
materially  affecting  the  greatest  mystery  in  our  spiritual  nature ; 
which  a  word  of  that  old  lady  might  enable  me  to  solve,  and  she 
will  not  speak  that  word.  And  why  1  Clearly,  she  was  quite 
as  anxious  for  the  truth,  at  the  beginning-,  as  I  was  myself.  But 
the  secret  is,  that  her  pride  stood  in  the  way.  Pride  is  half  the 
time  in  favor  of  philosophy.  Had  her  husband,  instead  of  ap- 
pearing in  the  ordinary  guise  of  one  of  the  natives — which  must 
be  confessed  to  be  a  very  wretched  taste — but  put  scarlet 
breeches  on  his  ghost,  the  old  woman  would  have  been  willing 
to  acknowledge  him.  But  she  was  ashamed  of  a  ghost — even 
though  it  were  her  own  husband — who  should  reappear  in  dingy 
blue  homespun.  And  she  was  right.  What  ghost  could  hope 
to  find  faith,  or  respect,  who  paid  so  little  attention  to  his  personal 
appearance  1  It  seems  to  me,  if  I  should  ever  have  any  desire 
to  'revisit  the  glimpses  of  the  moon,'  and  the  favor  were  afforded 
me,  I  should  be  at  quite  as  much  trouble  in  making  up  my  toilet 
as  I  am  now ;  nay,  more,  for  the  task  would  be  accompanied 
by  increased  difficulty.  The  complexion  of  a  ghost  would  re- 


326  THE   SCOUT. 

quire  a  very  nice  selection  of  shades  in  costume.  Whether  my 
violet  would  not  be  the  most  suitable  ?  E-eally,  the  question  in- 
creases in  interest.  I  shall  certainly  study  it  carefully.  The 
delicacy  of  the  violet  is  an  argument  in  its  favor,  but  some  def- 
erence must  be  shown  to  the  universal  judgment  of  ages,  which 
represents  ghosts  as  commonly  appearing  in  white.  To  this,  the 
case  of  Hamlet's  father  and  General  Middleton  furnish  the  only 
exceptions  that  I  remember.  How  then  should  a  ghost  be  hab- 
ited •'{  How  should  I  be  habited,  appearing  as  a  ghost1?  The 
query  is  one  of  delicate  interest.  I  must  consult  with  myself, 
my  pocket  mirror,  and  the  lovely  Flora  Middleton !" 

This  dialogue,  and  these  grave  reflections,  resulted  in  the 
temporary  exhaustion  of  the  surgeon.  He  yawned  listlessly, 
and  once  more  threw  himself  upon  the  sofa  where  he  had  been 
favored  with  his  ghostly  visitation;  but,  on  this  occasion,  he 
took  special  care  that  his  face  should  front  the  entrance.  Here 
he  surrendered  himself  for  a  while  to  those  dreaming  fancies 
with  which  the  self-complacent  are  fortunately  enabled  to  recom- 
pense themselves  for  the  absence  of  better  company ;  and  pas- 
sing, with  the  rapidity  of  insect  nature,  from  flower  to  flower, 
his  mind  soon  lost,  in  the  hues  which  it  borrowed  as  it  went, 
every  trace  of  that  subject  to  which  it  had  been  seemingly 
devoted  with  so  much  earnestness. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Middleton  joined  her  grand-daughter  in  the 
chamber  of  poor  Mary  Clarkson.  It  needed  not  the  verdict  of 
the  surgeon  to  declare  that  she  must  die  ;  and  all  his  professional 
jargon  could  not  have  persuaded  the  spectator,  who  gazed  upon 
her  pale  and  wretched  features,  to  believe  that  she  could  by  any 
possibility  survive.  The  eternal  fiat  had  gone  forth.  The  mes- 
senger of  mercy — for  such,  happily,  was  the  angel  of  death  to 
her — was  on  his  way.  She  might  sink  in  a  few  hours,  she 
might  live  as  many  days,  but  she  was  evidently  dying.  But 
there  was  a  strange  life  and  brightness  in  her  eyes.  The  vital- 
ity of  her  glance  was  heightened  by  delirium  into  intense  spiritu- 
ality. She  keenly  surveyed  the  persons  in  attendance  with  a 
jealous  and  suspicious  glance,  the  cause  of  which  they  could 
only  ascribe  to  the  mind's  wandering.  Her  eyes  turned  ever 
from  them  to  the  entrance  of  the  apartment ;  and  once,  when 


PHILOSOPHICAL  DOUBTS   AND   INQUIRIES.  327 

Flora  Middleton  went  to  place  an  additional  pillow  beneath  her 
head,  she  grasped  her  hand  convulsively,  and  murmured  with 
the  most  piteous  accents — 

"  Take  him  not  from  me — not  yet — not  till  I  am  dead,  and 
in  the  cold,  cold  grave  !  Why  will  you  take  him  from  me  ?  I 
never  did  you  harm  !" 

Very  much  shocked,  Flora  shuddered,  but  replied — 

"  Of  whom  speak  you,  my  poor  girl? — what  would  you  have 
me  do?" 

"Of  whom?  —  of  him!  Surely  you  know? — of  Conway! 
Take  him  not  from  me — not — not  till  I  am  in  the  grave ! 
Then — oh  then  ! — it  will  not  need  then  !  No  !  no  !" 

The  interval  of  sense  was  brief,  but  how  painful  to  the  listen- 
ing maiden ! 

"  Fear  nothing !"  said  Flora,  somewhat  proudly.  "  God  for- 
bid that  I  should  rob  you  of  any  of  your  rights." 

"  Oh  !  but  you  can  not  help  it ! — you  can  not  help  it !"  cried 
the  sufferer.  "I  know — I  know  what  it  is  to  love — and  to 
suffer  for  it !  But,  will  you  not  let  me  see  him — let  me  go  to 
him  —  or  bid  them  bring  him  here  to  me  !  I  can  not  die  till  I 
have  seen  him !" 

"  That  can  not  be,  my  poor  girl ;  he  is  not  here.  He  is  gone. 
I  trust  that  God  will  enable  you  to  live  to  see  him." 

"  "He  is  gone  !  You  mean  that  he  is  dead  !  Ha  ! — can  it  be 
that  ?  I  did  not  come  in  time  !  I  saw  them  fight !  I  heard 
them  swear  and  strike — hard — heavy  blows,  with  sharp  steel! 
OJi,  God !  that  brothers  should  fight,  and  seek  to  destroy  each 
other !  I  called  to  them  to  stop  ;  but  I  saw  their  heavy  blows  ; 
and  when  I  ran  to  part  them  —  I  fell,  and  such  a  pain!  My 
poor,  poor  head!  He  killed  us  both — the  cruel  brother! — he 
killed  us  both  with  his  heavy  blows." 

"  My  poor  girl,"  said  Flora,  "  do  not  make  yourself  miserable 
with  this  mistake.  Believe  what  I  tell  you.  Mr.  Clarence 
Conway  is  in  no  danger ;  he  escaped.  The  only  sufferer  is  Mr, 
Edward  Conway,  who  is  hurt.  He  lies  in  the  opposite  chamber." 

The  words  of  the  speaker  were  drowned  in  the  shrieks  of  the 
sufferer,  now,  once  more,  a  maniac.  Successive  screams  of  a 
mixed  emotion — a  something  of  delight  and  agony  in  the  utter- 


328  THE   SCOUT. 

ance — followed  the  communication  of  Flora  Middleton,  and  were 
followed  by  a  desperate  effort  of  the  poor  girl  to  rise  from  the 
bed  and  rush  from  the  apartment.  It  required  all  the  strength 
of  an  able-bodied  female  slave,  who  watched  with  her  young 
mistress  in  the  apartment,  to  keep  her  in  the  bed ;  and  the  re- 
straint to  which  she  was  subjected  only  served  to  increase  her 
madness,  and  render  her  screams  more  piercing  and  intolerable 
than  ever.  Her  wild,  anguished  words  filled  the  intervals 
between  each  successive  scream.  But  these  were  no  longer 
coherent.  When  she  became  quieted  at  length,  it  was  only 
through  the  exhaustion  of  all  the  strength  which  sustained  her 
during  the  paroxysm.  Strong  aromatics  and  strengthening 
liquors  were  employed  to  restore  her  to  consciousness ;  and  the 
scientific  exquisite  from  below,  startled  from  his  dreaming  mood 
by  the  summons  of  the  servant,  was  sufficiently  impressed  by 
the  painful  character  of  the  spectacle  he  witnessed,  to  apply 
himself  in  earnest  to  the  task  of  restoring  her,  without  offending 
the  good  taste  of  the  ladies  by  the  exercise  of  his  customary 
garrulity.  She  was  brought  back  to  life,  and  the  keen  scrutiny 
of  Flora  Middleton  discovered,  as  she  fancied,  that  her  senses 
were  also  restored. 

There  was  an  air  of  cunning  in  the  occasionally  upturned 
glance  of  her  half-shut  eye,  which  forced  this  conviction  upon 
the  spectator.  When  Flora  changed  her  position,  the  eye  of 
the  sufferer  followed  her  movements  with  an  expression  of  curi- 
osity, which  is  one  of  the  most  natural  forms  of  intelligence. 
She  had  also  become,  on  a  sudden,  excessively  watchful.  Every 
sound  that  was  heard  from  without  aroused  her  regards ;  and, 
when  she  saw  that  she  was  noticed  by  those  around  her,  her 
own  glance  was  suddenly  averted  from  the  observer,  with  an 
air  of  natural  confusion. 

These  were  signs  that  warned  Flora  of  the  necessity  of  giving 
her  the  most  patient  and  scrupulous  attention.  It  was  obvious 
to  all  that  she  could  not  survive  that  night.  The  surgeon,  rub- 
bing his  hands  at  nightfall,  gave  his  ultimatum  to  this  effect ; 
and  yielded  up  his  charge  as  hopeless ;  and  the  gloomy  feelings 
of  Flora  Middleton  were  somewhat  modified  when  she  reflected 
that  death  could  not  possibly  be  a  misfortune  to  one  to  whom 


THE   AVENGER   BAFFLED.  329 

life  seemed  to  have  borne  only  the  aspects  of  unmixed  evil. 
What  should  she  live  for  1  More  neglect — more  shame — more 
sorrow  !  —  the  blow  that  forces  the  victim  to  the  dust,  and  mocks 
at  his  writhings  there.  Mary  Clarkson  had  surely  endured 
enough  of  this  already.  It  could  not  be  the  prayer  of  friendship 
which  would  desire  her  to  live  only  for  its  sad  continuance ;  and 
to  live  at  all,  must  be,  in  the  case  of  that  hapless  creature,  to 
incur  this  agonizing  penalty.  But  Flora  Middleton  could  still 
pray  for  the  victim.  Forgiveness  might  be  won  for  her  errors, 
and,  surely,  where  the  penalties  of  folly  and  of  sin  are  already 
so  great  in  life,  the  mercy  of  Heaven  will  not  be  too  rigorously 
withheld.  This  was  her  hope,  and  it  may  well  be  ours. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

THE    AVENGER   BAFFLED. 

THE  screams  of  the  maddened  victim  of  his  lust  and  selfish- 
ness, had  reached  the  ears  of  Edward  Morton  in  his  chamber. 
They  had  startled  him  from  slumbers,  which  no  doubt,  had  their 
images  of  terror,  such  as  thronged  about  the  couch  of  Eichard, 
and  sat  heavy  upon  his  soul.  The  piercing  agony  of  those 
shrieks  must  have  strangely  tallied  with  his  dreams,  for  he 
started  almost  erect  in  his  couch,  his  eyes  wild  and  staring,  his 
hair  moist  yet  erect,  his  words  broken,  thick,  and  incoherent. 
His  attendant,  Watson  Gray,  who  had  been  a  faithful  watcher 
beside  his  couch,  ran  to  him,  and  pressed  him  gently  back  upon 
the  pillows,  using  such  language  as  he  fancied  might  soothe  to 
quiet  his  nervous  excitation ;  but,  as  the  shrieks  were  continued, 
and  seemed  to  acquire  greater  volume  with  each  successive 
utterance,  there  was  still  an  influence,  beyond  his  power  of 
soothing,  to  keep  the  guilty  and  wounded  man  in  a  state  of 
agitation. 

"  What  mean  these  hideous  cries,  Gray  ?  was  there  not  some 
one  besides  yourself  in  my  chamber  before  they  began  1  Did 
they  take  nobody  hence — now,  now — but  now?" 


330  THE   SCOUT. 

"  No  !  you  have  been  dreaming  only.  You  are  feverish.  Be 
quiet — on  your  keeping  quiet  depends  everything." 

"  So  it  does ;  but  can't  you  silence  those  noises  1  I  should 
know  those  tones.  Can  it  be — are  they  Mary's?  Is  she 
dying  ?" 

The  question  was  put  by  the  outlaw  in  low,  husky  tones, 
which  were  scarcely  audible.  The  answer  was  necessarily  ut- 
tered in  the  affirmative,  though  Gray  was  reluctant  to  speak 
the  truth,  and  would  have  readily  availed  himself  of  a  false- 
hood, had  a  plausible  one  that  moment  suggested  itself  to  his 
mind. 

"  They  are  operating  upon  her,  perhaps  V1  continued  Morton ; 

"  that  d d  fellow  of  a  surgeon !  — he  cares  not  what  pain  he 

gives  her." 

"No,  captain,  there  is  no  operation  necessary.  The  doctor 
says  it'll  be  all  over  with  her  soon.  He's  given  her  hurts  the 
last  dressing  that  she'll  ever  need." 

"  Ha  !  she  will  then  die  !  She  -told  me  of  this  !  I  remember ; 
but  I  did  not  believe !  I  would  to  God  she  might  be  saved, 
Gray  !  Can  nothing  still  be  done  1  See  the  surgeon ;  let  him 
do  his  best.  I'm  afraid  you've  let  her  suffer." 

"  No,  every  thing's  been  done.  Old  Mrs.  Middleton  and  Miss 
Flora  have  been  nursing  and  watching  her  the  best  part  of  the 
time  themselves." 

"  And  there  is  then  no  hope  ?  Poor  Mary !  Could  she  be 
brought  up  again,  I  should  be  more  kind  to  her,  Gray.  I  have 
been  more  of  a  savage  to  that  poor,  loving  creature,  than  to  any 
other  human  being ;  and  I  know  not  why,  unless  it  was  that  she 
loved  me  better  than  all  others.  What  a  strange  nature  is  that 

of  man — mine,  at  last.  How  d -nably  perverse  has  my  spirit 

been  throughout; — actually,  and  always,  at  issue  with  its  own 
blessing.  Ah !  that  shriek ! — shut  it  out,  Gray — close  the  door 
— it  goes  like  a  sharp,  keen  arrow  to  my  brain !" 

Under  the  momentary  goadings  of  remorse,  the  outlaw  buried 
his  face  in  the  bed-clothes,  and  strove  to  exclude  from  hearing 
the  piercing  utterance  of  that  wo  which  "was  born  of  his  wicked- 
ness. But,  for  a  time,  the  effort  was  in  vain.  The  heart-rending 
accents  pursued  him,  penetrated  the  thin  barriers  which  would 


THE   AVENGER   BAFFLED.  331 

have  excluded  them  from  the  ears  of  the  guilty  man,  and  roused 
him  finally  to  a  state  of  excitement  which  Watson  Gray  mo- 
mentarily dreaded  would  drive  him  to  a  condition  of  delirium 
little  short  of  hers.  But,  suddenly,  the  cries  of  terror  ceased ; 
so  suddenly,  that  the  outlaw  started  with  a  shudder  at  the  unex- 
pected and  heavy  silence. 

"  It  is  all  over  with  her,  She  is  dead.  Go  you  and  see, 
Gray.  Quickly,  go  !  and  tell  me.  Poor  Mary  !  I  could  have 
been  more  just  to  her  had  her  claims  been  less.  I  can  not  be- 
lieve that  she  is  dead.  No  !  no  ! — not  yet;  though  once  I  was 
wretch  enough  to  wish  it.  Forgive  me !  God  forgive  me,  for 
that  wish !" 

The  voice  of  the  outlaw  subsided  to  a  whisper.  A  cold  shud- 
der passed  through  his  frame.  His  eyes  were  closed  with  terror. 
He  fancied  that  the  freed  spirit  of  the  woman  whom  he  supposed 
dead,  hovered  above  him,  ere  it  took  its  final  departure.  Even 
the  whispering  accents  which  followed  from  his  lips  broke  forth 
in  spasmodic  ejaculations. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mary ;  forgive  !  forgive  !  I  should  have  loved 
you  better.  I  have  been  a  wretch — a  cold,  selfish,  unfeeling 
wretch!  I  knew  not  your  worth — your  value — and  now! 
Ha!  who  is  there?  who?  —  ah,  Gray,  is  it  you?  Sit  by  me; 
take  my  hand  in  yours.  Well,  she  is  gone  —  she  sleeps." 

Gray  had  resumed  his  place  by  the  bedside,  while  the  eyes 
of  the  trembling  criminal  were  closed.  His  approach  startled 
the  nervous  man  with  a  thrilling  confirmation  of  the  partial  su- 
pernatural fear  which  had  before  possessed  him. 

"  She  sleeps,"  said  Gray,  "  but  is  not  dead.  Her  paroxysm 
has  gone  off;  and,  perhaps,  she  will  only  waken  when  death 
comes  on." 

"  Ah  !  what  a  foolish  terror  possessed  me  but  now.  I  fancied 
that  she  was  beside  me! — I  could  have  sworn  I  heard  her 
faintly  whispering  in  my  ears.  What  a  coward  this  weakness 
makes  me." 

"  Try  to  sleep,  captain.  Remember  how  much  depends 
upon  your  soon  getting  well.  We  have  a  great  deal-  to  do,  you 
know." 

"  Ah,  true  ;  you  are  a  cool,  sensible  fellow,  Gray.     I  will  try 


332  THP]   SCOUT. 

to  sleep,  but  those  dreams — those  hideous  dreams.  Keep  be- 
side me,  Gray — do  not  leave  me." 

The  slight  reference  which  Gray  had  made  to  his  worldly 
schemes  and  grosser  passions,  recalled  the  outlaw  to  his  habitual 
self.  He  turned  his  head  upon  the  pillow,  while  Gray  took  one 
of  his  hands  quietly  within  his  own.  Sitting  thus  beside  him, 
it  was  not  long  before  he  discovered  that  the  outlaw  had  sunk 
into  a  regular  slumber ;  and,  releasing  his  hold,  he  laid  him- 
self down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  under  the  influence  of  a  natural 
exhaustion,  which  soon  brought  a  deeper  sleep  upon  his  senses 
than  that  which  possessed  those  of  his  superior. 

Night  meanwhile  stole  onward  with  noiseless  footstep,  and  a 
deep  silence  overspread  the  whole  barony.  The  sleep  of  the 
outlaw  was  long,  deep  and  refreshing.  It  indicated  a  favorable 
condition  of  his  wounds,  such  as  Watson  Gray  had  predicted. 
The  poor  victim  in  the  neighboring  chamber  seemed  to  sleep 
also,  but  her  repose  promised  no  such  agreeable  results.  The 
lamp  of  life  was  flickering  with  uncertain  light.  The  oil  of  the 
vessel  was  nearly  exhausted.  Flora  Middleton  approached  her 
about  midnight,  and  so  still  was  her  seeming  sleep,  so  breath- 
lessly deep  did  her  slumbers  appear,  so  composed  her  features, 
and  so  rigid  her  position,  that  the  maiden  was  struck  with  the 
thought  that  the  last  sad  change  had  already  taken  place.  But, 
as  she  stooped  over  the  face  of  the  sleeper,  her  silken  ringlets 
were  slightly  shaken  by  the  faint  breathing  from  her  half-closed 
lips,  which  still  betrayed  the  presence  of  the  reluctant  aiid  lin- 
gering life.  She  appeared  to  sleep  so  sweetly  and  soundly  that 
Flora  determined  to  snatch  a  few  moments  of  repose  also.  She 
needed  such  indulgence.  She  had  robbed  herself  of  many 
hours  of  accustomed  sleep,  in  watching  and  waiting  upon  the 
wakeful  sufferings  of  her  involuntary  guest.  Calling  in  the 
servant  whose  own  slumbers  never  suffered  impediment  or  in- 
terruption in  any  situation,  she  resigned  the  invalid  to  her  care, 
giving  her  special  instructions  to  keep  a  good  watch,  and  to 
summon  her  instantly,  when  any  change  in  the  patient  was  at 
hand. 

Mira,  the  negro  woman  to  whom  this  trust  was  given,  was  one  of 
the  staid  family  servants  such  as  are  to  be  found  in  every  ancient 


THE   AVENGER   BAFFLED.  833 

southern  household,  who  form  a  necessary  part  of  the  establish- 
ment, and  are,  substantially,  members,  from  long  use  and  habit, 
of  the  family  itself.  The  children  grow  up  under  their  watchful 
eyes,  and  learn  to  love  them  as  if  they  were  mothers,  or  at  least 
grandmothers,  maiden  aunts,  or  affectionate  antique  cousins,  who 
win  their  affections  by  bringing  bon-bons  in  their  pockets,  and 
join  them  in  all  their  noisy  games.  They  rebuke  the  rudeness 
of  the  young,  follow  their  steps  in  their  errant  progress,  warn 
them  of  danger,  and  put  them  to  bed  at  night.  Mira  was  one  of 
these  valuable  retainers,  who  had  watched  the  childhood  of 
Flora,  and  received  from  the  latter  all  the  kindness  which  she 
certainly  deserved. 

"  Now,  Mauma,"  said  Flora,  at  leaving  her,  "  don't  go  to  sleep. 
You've  slept  all  the  evening,  and  can  surely  keep  wakeful  till  I 
come.  Call  me  the  moment  the  poor  girl  wakens,  or  if  you  see 
any  difference." 

Mira  promised  everything,  took  her  seat  beside  the  couch  of 
the  patient,  and  really  set  out  with  a  serious  determination  to 
keep  her  eyes  open  to  the  last.  But  when  did  a  negro  ever 
resist  that  most  persuasive,  seductive,  and  persevering  of  all  in- 
fluences in  the  South,  particularly  in  the  balmy  month  of  June  1 
When  did  sleep  deign  to  solicit,  that  he  was  not  only  too  happy 
to  embrace  1  Mira  soon  felt  the  deep  and  solemn  stillness  of  the 
scene.  The  events  of  the  few  days  previous  had  excited  her 
along  with  the  rest ;  and  the  exhaustion  of  her  faculties  of  reflec- 
tion, which  is  always  a  rapid  affair  in  all  the  individuals  of  her 
race,  necessarily  made  her  more  than  ever  susceptible  to  sleep. 
To  do  her  all  justice,  however,  she  made  the  most  strenuous 
efforts  to  resist  the  drowsy  influence.  She  began  several  grave 
discussions  with  herself,  but  in  an  under-tone,  on  the  occurrences 
of  the  week.  She  discussed  the  merits  of  the  sundry  prominent 
persons  she  had  seen — Rawdon  and  the  Conways — not  forget- 
the  assistant  surgeon,  whom  she  resolved  was  either  a  prince  or 
a  "poor  buckrak"  in  his  own  country,  but  which  —  and  a  vast 
interval  lay  between — she  did  not  undertake  to  say.  But  the 
lamp  burned  dimly  on  the  hearth — the  shadows  that  flitted 
upon  the  walls,  in  correspondence  with  its  flickering  light,  in- 
creased the  gloom  —  the  patient  beside  her  was  apparently  sunk 


334  THE   SCOUT. 

in  the  deepest  slumber,  and  it  was  in  vain  for  the  poor  negro  to 
contend  with  the  magnetic  influence.  Her  head  was  gradually 
bent  forward,  and,  at  length,  lay  upon  the  bedside.  It  was  not 
long  after  this  when  she  slept  quite  as  soundly  as  if  this  blessing 
had  never  before  been  vouchsafed  her. 

When  she  slept,  the  patient  ceased  to  do  BO.  With  that  cun- 
ning which  is  said  to  mark  most  kinds  of  delirium,  she  had 
feigned  the  slumbers  which  she  was  never  more  to  know.  She 
perceived  that  she  was  watched — she  knew  that  she  was  re- 
strained ;  and,  sane  on  one  subject  only,  she  had  employed  the 
little  sense  that  suffering  had  left  her  in  deceiving  her  keepers. 
From  the  moment  when  she  was  told  that  Edward  Morton  occu- 
pied a  neighboring  chamber,  the  only  desire  which  remained  to 
her  in  life  was  to  see  him  before  she  died.  For  this  had  she 
raved  in  her  paroxysm,  but  they  did  not  comprehend  her ;  and 
the  strong  leading  desire  of  her  mind  had  so  far  brought  back 
her  capacities  of  thought  and  caution,  as  to  enable  her  to  effect 
her  object.  When  she  saw  Flora  Middleton  leave  the  chamber, 
her  hopes  strengthened ;  and,  when  the  negro  slept  beside  her, 
she  rose  from  the  couch,  stealthily,  and  with  a  singular  strength, 
which  could  only  be  ascribed  to  the  fever  in  her  system,  and  the 
intense  desire — a  fever  in  itself — which  filled  her  mind.  With 
a  deliberation  such  as  the  somnambulist  is  supposed  to  exhibit, 
and  with  very  much  the  appearance  of  one,  she  lifted  the  little 
lamp  which  was  burning  within  the  chimney,  and  treading  firmly, 
but  with  light  footstep,  passed  out  of  the  apartment  into  the 
great  passage-way  of  the  mansion,  without  disturbing  the  fast- 
sleeping  negro  who  had  been,  set  to  watch  beside  her. 

Meanwhile,  her  miserable  and  scarcely  more  sane  father,  was 
inhabiting  the  neighboring  woods,  and  prowling  about  the  prem- 
ises of  Brier  Park,  as  the  gaunt  wolf  hovers  for  his  prey  at 
evening,  around  the  camp  of  the  western  squatter.  The  woods 
formed  a  convenient  and  accustomed  shelter,  and  but  little  was 
required  to  satisfy  his  wants.  He  had  but  one  large,  leading 
appetite  remaining,  and  food  was  only  desirable  as  it  might  sup- 
ply the  necessary  strength  for  the  gratification  of  that  appetite. 
Animal  food  did  not  often  pass  his  lips  —  ardent  spirits  never. 
The  stimulus  derived  from  the  one  desire  of  his  sou,!  was  enough 


THE   AVENGER   BAFFLED.  335 

for  his  sustenance.  Roots,  acorns,  and  such  stray  bounty  as 
could  be  stealthily  furnished  by  the  neighboring  farmer  or  his 
slave,  from  the  cornfield  or  the  potato-patch,  had  been,  since  the 
beginning  of  the  Revolution,  the  uncertain  resource  of  all  the 
"  poor  bodies  that  were  out." 

As  one  of  these,  Clarkson  now  found  it  easy  to  obtain  the 
adequate  supply  of  his  creature  wants,  while  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Brier  Park.  He  soon  discovered  that  he  could  approach 
the  negro  houses,  the  kitchen,  and  finally,  the  mansion  itself, 
without  incurring  much,  if  any  risk.  The  soldiers  who  had  been 
left  behind,  nominally  to  protect  the  ladies,  but  really  as  a  safe- 
guard to  the  wounded  outlaw,  were  careless  upon  their  watch. 
Though  stationed  judiciously  and  counselled  earnestly  by  Wat- 
son Gray,  they  saw  no  cause  for  apprehension  ;  and  conjectured 
that  the  scout  simply  cried  "wolf,"  in  order  to  establish  his  own 
importance.  He  cautioned  and  threatened  them,  for  he  knew 
the  sort  of  persons  he  had  to  deal  with ;  but  as  soon  as  his  back 
was  turned,  they  stole  away  to  little  nooks  in  the  wood,  where, 
over  a  log,  with  a  greasy  pack  of  cards,  they  gambled  away 
their  sixpences,  and  sometimes  their  garments,  with  all  the  reck- 
lessness which  marks  the  vulgar  nature. 

Clarkson  soon  found  out  their  haunts,  watched  them  as  they 
stole  thither,  and  then  traversed  the  plantation  at  his  leisure. 
In  this  manner  he  had  ascertained  all  the  secrets  that  he  deemed 
it  necessary  to  know.  As  his  whole  thought  was  addressed  to 
the  one  object,  so  he  neither  asked  for,  nor  heard,  the  informa- 
tion which  concerned  any  other.  To  know  where  Edward  Con- 
way  lay  was  the  only  knowledge  which  he  desired ;  and  this 
information  he  gained  from  one  of  the  house  servants.  He  had 
once  penetrated  to  the  door  of  the  outlaw's  chamber,  but,  on 
this  occasion,  a  timely  glimpse  of  Watson  Gray  aud  Mr.  Hill- 
house,  warned  him  that  the  hour  of  vengeance  must  still  fur- 
ther be  delayed. 

That  night,  however,  of  which  we  have  spoken,  seemed  aus- 
picious to  his  object.  The  skies  were  cloudy,  and  the  moon 
obscured.  A  faint  gray  misty  light  pervaded  the  extent  of  space. 
The  woods  looked  more  gloomy  than  ever  beneath  it,  and  when 
the  sentinels  found  that  the  mansion  had  sunk  into  its  usual 


336  THE   SCOUT. 

evening  quiet,  they  stole  away  to  an  outhouse,  and  were  soon 
swallowed  up  in  the  absorbing  interests  of  Jamaica  rum  and 
"  old  sledge."  Clarkson  looked  in  upon  them  as  he  went  for- 
ward to  the  house ;  but  he  took  no  interest  in  them  or  their 
proceedings,  when  they  were  once  out  of  his  way.  He  pene- 
trated to  the  house  without  interruption,  ascended  the  stairs,  and 
passed  with  impunity  into  the  very  chamber  of  the  outlaw. 

The  lamp  was  nearly  extinguished  in  the  chimney.  A  faint 
light  was  thrown  around  the  apartment,  not  sufficient  to  pene- 
trate the  gloom  at  the  remoter  ends  of  it,  and  it  had  been  par- 
ticularly placed  in  such  a  manner  as  to  prevent  it  from  playing 
upon  the  face  of  the  suffering  man.  In  consequence  of  this 
arrangement,  the  greater  part  of  the  couch  lay  entirely  in 
shadow ;  and  while  Clarkson  was  looking  about  him  in  doubt 
which  way  to  proceed,  he  distinguished  the  person  of  Watson 
Gray,  lying  almost  at  his  feet  upon  the  floor. 

A  glance  at  his  face  sufficed  to  show  that  he  was  not  the  man 
he  sought ;  and,  passing  around  the  body  of  the  sleeper,  he  cau- 
tiously approached  the  bed,  and  drawing  the  curtains  on  one 
side,  was  aware,  from  the  deep  breathing,  and  the  occasional 
sigh  which  reached  his  ears,  that  the  man  for  whom  he  had  been 
so  long  in  pursuit  of  was  lying  before  him.  His  heart  had  long 
been  full  of  the  desire  for  vengeance,  and  his  knife  was  ready 
in  his  hand.  It  wanted  but  sufficient  light  to  show  him  where 
to  strike  with  fatal  effect,  and  the  blow  would  have  been  given. 
He  had  but  to  feel  for  the  breast  of  his  enemy,  and  the  rest  was 
easy.  He  was  about  to  do  so,  when  the  light  in  the  apartment 
was  suddenly  increased.  He  looked  up  with  momentary  appre- 
hension. The  opposite  curtain  was  drawn  aside  in  the  same 
moment,  and  he  beheld,  with  terror,  what  he  believed  to  be  the 
apparition  of  his  long-perished  daughter. 

Certainly,  no  spectre  could  have  worn  a  more  pallid  or  awful 
countenance — no  glance  from  eyes  that  had  once  been  mortal, 
could  have  shone  with  more  supernatural  lustre.  The  light  of 
delirium  and  fever  was  there — and  the  wild,  spiritual  gleam, 
which  looks  out,  in  fitful  spasms,  from  the  hollow  sockets  of  the 
dying.  The  glances  of  father  and  daughter  met  in  the  same  in- 


THE   AVENGER   BAFFLED.  337 

stant,  and  what  a  life  of  mutual  wo,  and  terror,  and  desolation, 
did  they  each  convey  ! 

A  shriek  from  both  was  the  result  of  that  unlooked-for  en- 
counter. The 'light  dropped  from  the  hands  of  the  dying  girl, 
upon  the  bed,  and  was  extinguished  ;  the  dagger  fell  harmlessly 
from  his,  beside  the  bosom  it  was  meant  to  stab.  Her  hollow 
voice  sounded  in  his  ears,  and  the  words  she  spoke  confirmed  all 
his  terrors. 

"  My  father  !  Oh  !  my  father !"  was  the  exclamation  forced 
from  her  by  the  suddenly  recovered  memory  of  the  painful  past : 
and  as  he  heard  it,  he  darted  away,  in  headlong  flight,  heedless 
of  the  body  of  Watson  Gray,  upon  which,  in  his  terrors,  he 
trampled,  without  a  consciousness  of  having  done  so. 

The  spectral  form  of  the  girl  darted  after  him.  He  saw  her 
white  garments,  as  he  bounded  down  the  stair-flights,  and  the 
glimpse  lent  vigor  to  his  limbs.  He  heard  her  voice,  faint  and 
feeble,  like  the  moaning  whisper  of  the  dying  breeze  in  autumn, 
imploring  him  to  stay ;  and  it  sounded  more  terribly  in  his  ears 
than  the  last  trumpet.  A  painful  consciousness  of  having,  by 
his  cruelty,  driven  the  poor  girl  to  the  desperate  deed  of  self- 
destruction,  haunted  his  mind ;  and  her  appearance  seemed  to 
him  that  of  one  armed  with  all  the  terrors  of  the  avenger.  It 
will  not  be  thought  wonderful  by  those  who  are  at  all  conver- 
sant with  the  nature  of  the  human  intellect,  and  with  the  strange 
spiritual  touches  that  move  it  to  and  fro  at  will,  to  state  that  the 
effect  of  her  father's  presence  had  suddenly  restored  his  daugh- 
ter to  her  senses.  At  least,  she  knew  that  it  was  her  father 
whom  she  pursued  —  she  knew  that  he  had  spurned  her  from  his 
presence,  and  her  present  consciousness  led  her  to  implore  his 
forgiveness  and  to  die.  She  knew  that  the  hand  of  death  was 
upon  her,  but  she  desired  his  forgiveness  first.  The  knowledge 
of  her  situation  gave  her  the  requisite  strength  for  the  pursuit, 
and  before  her  pathway  could  be  traced,  she  had  followed  his 
steps  into  the  neighboring  forest. 


338  THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

THE    FATHER   AND    HIS    CHILD. 

CLARKSON,  with  all  the  terrors  of  superstitious  fright  pursuing 
him,  yet  with  all  the  instinct  of  the  scout,  sought  shelter  in  the 
woods  from  all  pursuit,  whether  supernatural  or  human.  He  fled 
with  the  speed  of  the  hunted  deer,  and  had  soon  left  far  behind  him 
the  fainting  form  of  his  shadowy  pursuer.  But  of  this  he  knew 
nothing.  He  looked  not  once  after  him,  upon  leaving  the  house. 
Buried  in  the  woods,  he  was  still  pressing  his  way  forward,  when 
a  voice  which,  at  another  time,  would  have  been  familiar  and 
friendly  in  his  ears,  addressed  him,  and  summoned  him  to  stop. 
But,  under  the  prevailing  apprehension  of  his  heart,  he  fancied 
it  the  same  voice  of  terror  which  had  risen  from  the  grave  to 
rebuke  him,  and  this  conviction  increased  the  terror  and  rapidity 
of  his  flight.  A  footstep  as  fleet  as  his  own  now  joined  in  the 
pursuit.  He  heard  the  quick  tread  behind,  and  finally  beside 
him,  and,  desperate  with  the  feeling  that  he  was  overtaken,  he 
turned  wildly  to  confront  his  pursuer.  A  hand  of  flesh  and 
blood  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder  at  the  same  moment,  and  the 
voice  of  our  old  friend  John  Bannister  reassured  him,  and  recon- 
ciled him  to  delay. 

"  By  Jings  !"  exclaimed  the  woodman,  "  if  I  didn't  know  you 
to  have  the  real  grit  in  you,  Jake  Clarkson,  I  would  think  you 
was  getting  to  be  rather  timorsome  in  your  old  age.  What's 
the  matter,  man? — what's  flung  you  so  !" 

"Ah,  John!  is  that  you?" — -and  the  frightened  man  grap- 
pled the  hand  of  the  new-comer  with  fingers  that  were  cold 
and  clammy  with  the  fears  that  were  working  in  his  heart. 

"  I  reckon  it  is.  I  suppose  you  thought  by  this  time,  that 
Lord  Rawdon  and  the  Black  Riders  had  made  a  breakfast  upon 
me,  keeping  a  chip  of  me,  here  and  there,  to  stay  their  march- 
ing stomachs  upon.  But,  you  see,  there's  more  ways  than  one  of 


THE   FATHER   AND   HIS   CHILD.  389 

slipping  a  halter,  when  a  horse  can  borrow  a  friend's  finger  to 
help  his  teeth.  The  acorn  ain't  planted  yet  that's  to  make  my 
swinging  tree.  I'm  here,  old  man,  and  out  of  their  clutches,  I'm 
thinking,  without  losing  any  of  my  own  hide,  and  bringing  with 
me  a  very  good  sample  of  theirs.  As  keen  a  nag,  Jake  Clark- 
son,  as  ever  was  taken  from  the  Philistines  lies  in  that  'ere  bog 
— a  fifty  guinea  nag.  I've  spoiled  the  Egyptians  in  my  cap- 
tivity. Come  and  look  at  the  critter." 

"Ah,  John,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  Stand  by  me — and 
look." 

"Stand  by  you,  and  look!  Why,  what's  to  look  upon? — 
what's  to  hurt  you?  What's  scared  you?  The  woods  was 
never  more  quiet.  I've  been  all  round  the  barony,  and  their 
guard  is  half  drunk  and  half  asleep  in  an  old  log  cabin  between 
the  stables  and  the  negro  houses.  They  can  do  no  hurt,  I  tell 
you." 

"  Not  them,  John — you  don't  think  I  mind  them  ?  But,  hear 
you !  I've  seen  kerf"  His  voice  sunk  to  a  hoarse  whisper,  and 
he  looked  behind  him,  over  the  path  he  came,  with  un diminished 
terrors. 

"  Her  ?     Who  1     Who's  her .?" 

"Mary!  Poor  Mary!  The  child  I  killed!— The  poor 
child!" 

"  Ha  !  —  She  still  lives  then  !" 

"  No  !  no  ! — her  ghost.  Her  spent !  It  walks  !  Oh  !  John 
Bannister — 'twas  a  dreadful,  dreadful  sight.  I  went  to  kill  Ned 
Conway.  He's  lying  there,  wounded  in  the  house.  I've  been 
watching  here  in  the  woods,  ever  since  the  British  went.  I 
went  several  times  into  the  house  but  couldn't  get  a  chance  at 
him  till  to-night.  To-night,  I  got  to  his  room.  It  was  so  dark 
I  couldn't  see  how  he  lay  in  the  bed ;  and  when  I  was  feeling 
for  him,  the  curtain  drawed  up  on  one  side,  and  then  I  saw  Mary 
— poor  Mary — whiter  than  the  driven  snow,  all  in  a  sudden 
blaze  of  light.  Oh  !  how  dreadful  white  she  looked  !  How  aw- 
ful bright  her  eyes  shone  at  me.  I  couldn't  stand  it ;  I  couldn't 
look;  and  when  she  spoke  to  me,  I  felt  all  over  choking.  Jist 
then,  it  suddenly  turned  dark,  and  I  run,  and  when  I  looked 
back  she  was  coming  after  me.  She  didn't  seem  to  run  or 


340  THE   SCOUT. 

walk ;  she  seemed  to  come  with  the  air ;  and  to  fly  between  the 
trees " 

"  What !  you  didn't  see  her  after  you  left  the  house,  did 
you?" 

"  Yes !  oh  yes  ?     She  flew  after  me  into  the  woods." 

The  woodman  struck  his  head  with  his  palm,  as,  readily  con- 
ceiving the  true  ground  for  Clarkson's  terrors,  he  thought  of  the 
wounded  and  dying  girl  in  a  paroxysm  of  delirium,  flying  into 
the  rugged  forest  at  midnight. 

"  Stay  here,  stay  awhile,  Jake,  while  I  go  !"  said  he. 

"Don't  go — don't  leave  me!"  implored  the  old  man.  "It's 
I  that  killed  her,  John,  by  my  cruelty.  I  driv'  her  away  from 
the  house,  and  she  went  mad  and  drowned  herself  in  the  Con- 
garee ;  and  she  haunts  me  for  it.  She's  here  near  us  now, 
watching  for  you  to  go.  Don't  go,  John  ;  don't  leave  me  now. 
If  you  do,  I'll  run  to  the  river.  I'll  drown  myself  after  her." 

Bannister  found  some  difficulty  in  soothing  the  superstitious 
terrors  of  the  old  man,  but  he  at  length  succeeded  in  doing  so 
in  sufficient  degree  to  persuade  him  to  remain  where  he  was,  in 
waiting,  till  he  went  forward  toward  the  mansion. 

"  I'll  whistle  to  you  the  old  whistle,"  said  the  woodman,  "  as 
I'm  coming  back.  But  don't  you  be  scared  at  anything  you 
see.  I'm  sure  there's  no  ghost  that  ain't  a  nateral  one.  I've 
never  known  the  story  of  a  ghost  yet  that  it  didn't  turn  out  to 
be  a  curtain  in  the  wind,  a  white  sheet  hung  out  to  dry,  or  mout 
be — sich  things  will  scare  some  people — a  large  moss-beard 
hanging  down  upon  a  green  oak's  branches.  If  a  man's  to  be 
scared  by  a  ghost,  Jake  Clarkson,  I  give  him  up  for  a  scout,  or 
even  for  a  soldier.  He  won't  do  for  the  woods.  There's  not  an 
owl  in  an  old  tree  that  ain't  his  master — there's  not  a  piece  of 
rotten  wood  shining  in  the  bottom,  that  ain't  a  devil  ready  to 
run  off  with  him.  The  squirrel  that  jumps  in  the  bush,  and  the 
lizard  that  runs  upon  the  dry  leaves,  is  a  little  sort  of  '  a  com- 
ing-to-catch-me,'  for  sich  a  person ;  and,  God  help  him,  if  a  pine- 
burr  should  drop  on  his  head  when  he  ain't  thinking.  If  his 
heart  don't  jump  out  of  his  mouth,  quicker  than  ever  a  green 
frog  jumped  out  of  a  black  snake's  hollow,  then  I'm  no  man  to 
know  anything  about  scouting.  No,  no  !  Jake  Clarkson,  t'wont 


THE   FATHER  AND   HIS   CHILD.  341 

do  for  you  that's  been  counted  a  strong  man,  who  didn't  fear- 
the  devil  nor  the  tories,  to  be  taking  fright  at  a  something  that's 
more  like  a  dream  than  anything  serious.  It's  nothing  but 
what's  nateral  that's  scared  you,  I'm  thinking,  and  jist  you  keep 
quiet  till  I  go  back  and  see.  They  can't  scare  me  with  their 
blue  lights  and  burning  eyes.  My  mother  was  a  woman,  with 
the  soul  of  a  man,  that  had  the  real  grit  in  her.  I  was  only 
scared  once  in  my  life,  and  then  she  licked  the  scare  out  of  me, 
so  complete  that  that  one  licking's  lasted  me  agin  any  scare  that 
ever  happened  since." 

"  But  my  child — my  poor  child — the  child  that  I  killed,  John 
Bannister,"  said  the  father  in  reproachful  accents. 

"  Well,  there's  something  in  that,  Jake  Clarkson,  I'm  willing 
to  admit.  When  a  man's  done  a  wrong  thing,  if  anything's 
right  to  scare  him,  it's  that.  But  though  you  was  cross,  and  too 
cross,  as  I  told  you,  to  poor  Mary,  yet  it's  not  reasonable  to 
think  you  killed  her ;  and  I'll  lay  my  life  on  it,  if  you  saw 
Mary  Clarkson  to-night,  you  saw  the  real  Mary,  and  no  make- 
b'lieve — no  ghost !  But  I'll  go  and  see,  and  if  there's  any 
truth  to  be  got  at,  trust  me  to  pick  it  up  somewhere  along  the 
track.  Keep  you  quiet  here,  and  mind  to  answer  my  whistle." 

The  woodman  hurried  away,  without  waiting  to  answer  the 
inquiries  of  the  unhappy  father,  whom  the  words  of  the  former 
had  led  to  new  ideas.  The  suggestion,  thrown  out  by  Ban- 
nister, that  Mary  Clarkson  might  be  yet  alive,  was  intended  by 
the  scout  to  prepare  the  mind  of  the  former  for  a  probable 
meeting  between  himself  and  his  child.  He  left  him  consequent- 
ly in  a  singular  state  of  impatient  agitation,  which  was  far  more 
exhausting  to  the  physical  man,  than  would  have  been  the  en- 
counter of  a  dozen  foes  in  battle ;  and,  with  a  feebleness  which 
looked  like  one  of  the  forms  of  paralysis,  and  had  its  effects  for 
a  time,  the  old  man  sank  upon  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
and  groaned  with  the  very  pain  of  imbecility. 

Bannister,  meanwhile,  took  his  way  back  in  the  direction  of 
the  mansion,  and  as  nearly  as  possible  along  the  route  upon 
which  he  supposed  his  companion  to  have  run.  His  judgment 
proved  correct  in  this,  as  in  most  particulars.  He  had  barely 
emerged  from  the  thicker  woods,  and  got  upon  the  edge  of  the 


342  THE  SCOUT. 

immediate  enclosure  which  circumscribed  the  area  of  the  house- 
hold, when  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  white  heap  which  lay 
within  thirty  yards  of  the  woods.  He  approached  it,  and  found 
it  to  be  the  object  of  his  search. 

The  poor  girl  was  stretched  upon  the  ground  immovable. 
The  small  degree  of  strength  with  which  the  momentary  par- 
oxysm had  inspired  her,  had  passed  away,  and  she  lay  supine  ;  — 
her  eyes  were  opened  and  watching  the  woods  to  which  her 
father  had  fled.  Her  hands  were  stretched  outward  in  the  same 
direction.  Death  was  upon  her,  but  the  weight  of  his  hand 
was  not  heavy,  and  his  sting  did  not  seem  to  be  felt.  A  slight 
moaning  sound  escaped  her  lips,  but  it  was  rather  the  utterance 
of  the  parting  breath  than  of  any  sensation  of  pain  which  she 
experienced.  John  Bannister  knelt  down  beside  her.  The 
stout  man  once  more  found  himself  a  boy. 

"  This  then,"  was  the  thought  which  filled  his  brain — "this 
then,  is  the  sweet  little  girl  whom  I  once  loved  so  much !" 

She  knew  him.  A  faint  smile  covered  her  features,  and  al- 
most the  last  effort  of  her  strength,  enabled  her  to  point  to  the 
woods,  and  to  exclaim  :  — 

"  My  father !  my  father !— There  !     Bear  me  to  him,  John." 

The  hand  fell  suddenly,  the  voice  was  silent,  the  lips  were 
closed.  A  shiver  shook  the  limbs  of  the  strong  man. 

"Mary!  Mary!"  he  called  huskily. 

Her  eyes  unclosed.  She  was  not  dead.  There  was  still  life, 
and  there  might  be  time  to  place  her  in  the  arms  of  her  father 
before  it  was  utterly  gone.  A  noise  in  the  direction  of  the 
mansion,  and  the  appearance  of  lights  in  the  avenue,  determined 
the  prompt  woodman.  He  wound  his  arms  tenderly  about  her, 
raised  her  to  his  bosom,  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  as  if 
she  had  been  a  mere  infant  in  his  grasp,  darted  forward  into  the 
cover  of  the  woods.  The  alarm  had  evidently  been  given  at 
the  mansion,  he  heard  the  voices  of  the  household,  and  the  sud- 
cfen  clamors  of  the  half-sober  and  half-sleeping  soldiery.  But 
he  defied  pursuit  and  search,  as,  bounding  off,  in  the  well- 
known  route,  he  soon  placed  his  burden  at  the  foot  of  her 
father. 

"  Here,  Clarkson,  here  is  your  daughter.     Here  is  poor  Mary. 


THE  FATHER  AND   HIS  CHILD.  343 

She  was  not  drowned.  She  lives,  Jake  Olarkson,  but  she  has 
not  long  to  live.  She's  going  fast.  Be  quick — look  at  her,  and 
talk  softly !" 

Clarkson  bounded  to  his  feet,  gazed  with  convulsive  tremors 
upon  the  pale,  silent  form  before  him,  then,  with  the  shriek  of  a 
most  miserable  joy,  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  Her  eyes 
opened  upon  him.  He  held  her  from  him  that  he  might  the 
better  meet  their  gaze.  She  smiled,  threw  herself  forward  upon 
his  breast,  and  was  buried  within  his  embrace.  In  a  wild  in- 
coherent speech,  of  mixed  tenderness  and  reproach,  he  poured 
forth  the  emotions  of  his  heart — the  pangs  of  years — the  pleas- 
ures of  the  moment — the  chiding  of  his  own  cruelty,  and  her 
misdeeds.  But  she  answered  nothing — she  heard  nothing. 
Neither  praise  nor  blame  could  touch  or  penetrate  the  dull,  cold 
ear  of  death.  She  was,  at  length,  at  rest. 

"  Speak  to  me,  dear  Mary.  Only  tell  me  that  you  forgive  me 
all,  as  John  Bannister  can  tell  you  I  have  forgiven  you." 

"  She  will  never  speak  again,  Jacob.  It's  all  over.  She's 
got  rid  of  the  pain,  and  the  trouble,  and  the  vexation  of  this  life ; 
and  I  reckon  she'll  have  no  more  in  the  next ;  for  God  knows, 
jist  as  well  as  I,  that  she's  had  a  great  deal  more  than  her 
share." 

"You  don't  say  she's  dead?"  said  Clarkson  huskily. 

"  Well,  except  for  the  pain  of  it,  she's  been  dead  a  long  time, 
Jacob.  But  she  don't  hear  you,  I  reckon,  and  she  don't  feel 
your  arms,  though  you  hold  her  so  close  to  you.  Give  her  to 
me,  Jacob,  that  I  may  carry  her  deeper  into  the  bay.  The 
lights  from  the  house  are  coming  close,  and  they  may  find  us 
here." 

"Let  'em  come! — who  cares'?  They  won't  want  her  now 
she's  dead!" 

"  No  ;  but  they  may  want  us,  Jacob." 

"  Let  them  want,  and  let  them  seek  !  We're  ready  !  We'll 
fight,  I  reckon !"  and  his  fingers  were  clutched  together  convul- 
sively, as  if  the  weapon  were  still  within  their  grasp. 

"  Yes,  we'll  fight,"  said  Bannister,  "  but  not  here,  and  not  till 
we  put  her  out  of  the  way.  'Twon't  be  right  to  fight  anybody 
where  she  is — not  in  her  presence,  as  I  may  say." 


344  THE  SCOUT. 

"  True,  true,"  replied  the  other  faintly ;  "  but  Til  carry  her, 
John." 

Bannister  did  not  object,  but  led  the  way  to  the  thicket,  while 
the  father  followed  with  his  burden.  There,  the  woodman  drew 
forth  his  matchbox  and  struck  a  light,  and  the  two  sat  down  to 
survey  the  pale  spiritual  features  of  one  who  had  certainly  held 
a  deep  place  in  the  affections  of  both.  It  was  a  curious  survey. 
Their  place  of  retreat  was  one  of  those  dense  sombre  masses  of 
the  forest  where,  even  in  midday,  the  wholesome  daylight  never 
thoroughly  came.  The  demi-obscure  alone — 

"The  little  glooming  light  most  like  a  shade," 

declared  the  meridian  hour;  while  at  midnight  the  place  was 
dark  as  Erebus.  The  broad  circumferences  of  oaks,  the  lofty 
stretch  of  ever-moaning  pines,  gathered  close  and  solemnly 
around  as  if  in  secret  council ;  while  vines  and  leaves,  massed 
together  in  the  intervals  above,  effectually  roofed  in  the  spot 
with  a  dread  cathedral  vastness  and  magnificence.  The  spot  had 
been  freely  used  before  by  the  outlyers,  and  more  than  one  com- 
fortable bed  of  dried  leaves  might  be  discovered  under  the  oaks. 

On  one  of  these  the  body  of  the  girl  was  laid.  A  few  paces 
distant  from  her  feet,  in  a  depression  of  the  earth,  John  Bannis- 
ter had  gathered  his  splinters  and  kindled  a  little  fire,  just  suffi.- 
cient  to  enable  them  to  behold  one  another,  and  perhaps  make 
them  more  than  ever  feel  the  deep  and  gloomy  density  of  the 
place.  The  adjuncts  of  the  scene  were  all  calculated  to  make 
them  feel  its  sadness.  No  fitter  spot  could  have  been  chosen  for 
gloomy  thoughts  ;  none  which  could  more  completely  harmo- 
nize with  the  pallid  presence  of  the  dead.  The  head  of  the 
girl  rested  in  the  lap  of  the  father.  John  Bannister  sat  behind 
the  old  man.  A  sense  of  delicacy  made  him  reserved.  He  .did 
not  wish  to  obtrude  at  such  a  moment. 

Years  had  elapsed  since  the  father  had  been  persuaded  that 
his  child  had  been  lost  to  him,  irrevocably,  by  death ;  and  this 
conviction  was  embittered  by  the  further  belief  that  his  own  vio- 
lence had  driven  her  to  a  desperate  end.  In  that  conviction, 
deep,  and  keen,  and  bitter,  were  the  pangs  of  his  soul; — pangs 
which  he  could  only  blunt  by  the  endeavor,  hitherto  futile,  of 


THE   FATHER  AND    HIS   CHILD.  345 

finding,  and  inflicting  vengeance  upon,  her  betrayer.  Dark  had 
been  his  soul,  darker  its  desires  and  designs.  At  length  he  finds 
her  alive,  whom  he  had  fancied  he  had  destroyed.  He  finds  her 
living,  only  to  see  her  die.  His  thoughts  may  be  conjectured, 
not  traced,  nor  described,  as  he  watched  the  pale  countenance, 
still  beautiful,  which  lay  before  him  in  the  immoveable  ice  of 
death.  He  watched  her  long  in  silence.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
by  himself;  and  John  Bannister  felt  too  sincerely,  on  his  own 
account,  for  idle  and  unnecessary  remark.  But  the  stifled  na- 
ture at  length  broke  its  bonds.  The  heart  of  the  father  heaved 
with  the  accumulating  emotions.  Deep  groans  burst  from  his 
lips,  and  a  sudden  flood  of  relieving  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes. 
Bannister  felt  easier  as  he  perceived  the  change. 

"  All's  for  the  best,"  said  he,  with  a  plain  homespun  effort  at 
consolation.  "  It's  best  that  she's  gone,  Jake  Clarkson ;  and 
you  see  God  spared  her  jest  long  enough  to  bring  you  to- 
gether that  you  might  exchange  pardon.  You  was  a  little 
rough  and  she  was  a  little  rash,  and  God,  he  knows,  you've  both 
had  mighty  bad  roughing  for  it  ever  since.  Poor  thing,  she's 
gone  to  heaven,  that's  clear  enough  to  me.  I'm  not  jub'ous 
about  it.  She's  been  a  sinner  like  the  best,  but  if  she  wa'n't 
sorry  for  it,  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  then  sinner  never  was 
sorry.  Poor  Mary,  if  she  hadn't  looked  a  little  too  high,  she 
wouldn't  ha'  fallen  so  low.  She'd  ha'  been  an  honest  man's 
wife ;  but  what's  the  use  to  talk  of  that  now.  It  only  makes 
one's  eyes  water  the  more." 

"  It's  good,  John.     It  sort  o'  softens  a  man !" 

"  Not  too  much.  A  man  oughtn't  to  be  too  soft  about  the 
heart,  in  a  world  like  this,  so  full  of  rascals  that  need  the  knock- 
ings  of  a  hard  and  heavy  hand.  Yet,  ef  a  man  ought  to  feel 
soft  about  the  heart,  jest  now,  that  man's  me.  It's  a  sad  truth, 
Jake,  I  was  once  jist  on  the  point  of  axing  you  and  Mary  !  I 
was ;  for  I  did  love  her,  as  I  ha'n't  seen  woman  to  love  from 
that  day  to  this  ;  and  but  for  Edward  Conway  ! " 

"That  bloody  villain!  That  thief — that  murderer!  Ha! 
ha !  But  I  will  have  him  yet,  John  Bannister !  I  was  a  fool  to 
be  frightened  away,  jist  when  I  had  my  hand  at  his  throat,  and 
nothing  to  stop  me.  There  he  lay,  still  and  ready  for  the  knife ! 

15* 


346  THE  SCOUT. 

Ho  !  John,  jist  there  !  I  think  I  see  him  now  !  Stretched  out, 
his  eyes  shut,  his  breast  open,  and  nobody  looking  on " 

"  Stop,  Jacob  Clarkson,  God  was  a-looking  on  all  the  time — 
and  Mary  Clarkson  was  a  looking  on  1  —  and  what  sent  her  thar 
jest  at  that  moment  ?  Who  but  God  !  And  what  did  he  send 
her  thar  for,  but  to  stop  you  from  doing  a  wrong  thing  ?  Look 
you,  Jake  Clarkson,  you  know  I  don't  often  stop  to  think  or  to 
feel  when  fighting's  going  on.  I'm  as  quick  to  kill  as  the  quick- 
est dragoon  in  all  Tarleton's  brigade.  That  is,  I'm  quick  to  kill 
when  it's  the  time  for  killing.  But  there's  a  time  for  all  things, 
and  I  ain't  quick  to  kill  a  man  that's  a-sleeping,  and  him  too,  so 
cut  up  already,  that  it's  a  chance  ef  he  ain't  got  enough  to  bury 
him.  I'm  a-thinking,  Jacob  Clarkson,  that  God  has  jest  given 
you  a  good  warning,  that  you  must  do  your  killing  in  fair  fight, 
and  not  by  stealing  to  a  man's  bedside  when  he's  sleeping,  and 
he  pretty  well  chopped  up  already.  I  reckon  you'll  be  the  man 
to  kill  Ned  Conway  yet,  ef  what  he's  got  don't  finish  him ;  and 
ef  it  does,  you're  only  to  thank  God  for  taking  an  ugly  business 
off  your  hands.  When  I  look  upon  Mary,  thar,  it  puts  me  out 
of  the  idea  of  killing  altogether.  I'm  sure  I  wish  peace  was 
everywhere.  Lord  save  us  from  a  time  like  this,  when  a  poor 
child  like  that  runs  into  the  way  of  hard  blows  and  bloody 
we'pons.  It  makes  my  heart  sort  o'  wither  up  within  me  only 
to  think  of  it." 

But  Clarkson  was  not  much  impressed  by  the  grave  opinions 
of  his  companion.  He  had  always  respected  the  straightforward 
character  and  manly  judgment  of  the  woodman ;  and  there  was 
something  very  plausible,  to  the  superstitious  mind,  in  the  case 
presented  at  the  outset  of  the  woodman's  speech. 

"  Sure  enough  !  sure  enough  !"  said  the  old  man ;  "  how  could 
she  come,  jest  at  the  moment  I  was  going  to  kill  him,  if  God 
didn't  mean  that  I  shouldn't  do  it  jest  then !  But  if  he  gets 
well  again,  John  Bannister — " 

"Kill  him  then  — I'm  cl'ar  for  that !  I'll  kill  him  myself  then 
ef  nobody  comes  before  me  with  a  better  right.  You've  got  a 
sort  of  claim  to  the  preference." 

We  need  not  pursue  the  conference.  One  question  which 
went  to  the  very  heart  of  John  Bannister,  and  which  he  evaded, 


THE  FATHER  AND   HIS  CHILD.  347 

was  uttered  by  the  father,  as,  in  passing  his  hands  through  the 
unbound  portions  of  her  hair,  he  felt  them  clammy  with  her 
blood.  The  revelation  of  her  physical  injuries  was  neAv  to  him. 

"  Oh,  God,  John  Bannister  !  she  bleeds  !  Her  head  is  hurt. 
Here !  jest  here  !  I  didn't  mind  the  bandage  before.  She 
didn't  die  a  nateral  death.  The  cruel  villain  has  killed  her. 
He's  got  tired  of  her  and  killed  her." 

"  Oh,  no !  no !  Jacob !"  exclaimed  the  other,  with  an  agita- 
tion of  voice  and  manner  which  betrayed  his  secret  pangs. 
"  No,  I  reckon  not !  He's  not  able  to  hurt  anybody.  I  reckon 
— I'm  sure — she  got  hurt  by  accident.  I'll  answer  for  it,  the 
man  that  struck  Mary  Olarkson,  would  have  sooner  cut  his  right 
hand  off  than  ha'  done  such  a  thing.  'Twas  accident !  I'm 
sure  'twas  accident!" — and  with  these  words  the  poor  fellow 
went  aside  among  the  trees  and  wept  like  a  child  as  he  thought 
over  the  cruel  haste  of  his  own  fierce  spirit  and  too  heavy  hand. 

"  God  forgive  me,  for  not  speaking  out  the  truth,  which  is  a 
sort  of  lie-telling  after  all.  But  how  could  I  tell  Jake  Clarkson 
that  'twas  the  hand  of  John  Bannister  that  shed  the  blood  of 
his  child  ?  It's  woful  enough  to  feel  it." 

To  bury  the  dead  from  his  sight  became  the  last  duty  of  the 
father.  John  Bannister  was  for  carrying  the  body  to  the  family 
vault  of  the  Middleton's  and  Jaying  it  there  by  dawn  of  day. 
But  to  this  Olarkson  instantly  dissented. 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "  the  Middletons  are  great  people,  and  the 
Clarksons  are  poor  and  mean.  We  never  mixed  with  'em  in 
life,  and  there's  no  reason  we  should  mix  in  death." 

"  But  you  don't  know  Miss  Flora,  Jacob  Olarkson." 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  her." 

"  She's  so  good.  She'd  be  glad,  I'm  sure,  if  we  was  to  put 
her  there.  She's  been  tending  poor  Mary  as  if  she  was  her 
own  sister." 

"  She  has,  eh  ?  I  thank  her.  I  believe  she's  good  as  you 
say,  John.  But,  somebody  might  come  after  her,  and  shut  me 
out  of  the  vault  when  they  please.  They  wouldn't  like  me  to 
go  there  to  see  Mary  Avhcn  I  wish,  and  wouldn't  let  'em  put  me 
beside  her.  No  !  no !  we'll  put  her  in  the  ground  beside  the 
river.  I  know  a  place  for  her  already,  and  there's  room  for  me. 


348  THE  SCOUT. 

She  was  born  in  the  Congaree,  and  she'll  sleep  sweetly  beside 
it.  If  you  live  after  me,  John,  put  me  there  with  her.  It's  a 
little  smooth  hill  that  always  looks  fresh  with  grass,  as  if  God 
smiled  upon  the  spot  and  a  good  angel  'lighted  there  in  the 
night-time.  Go,  John,  and  try  and  find  a  shovel  in  the  fields 
somewhere.  We've  got  no  coffin,  but  we'll  wrap  the  child  up 
in  pine  bark  and  moss,  and  she  won't  feel  it  any  colder.  Go, 
and  let  me  sit  down  with  her  by  ourselves.  It's  a  long  time, 
you  know,  since  I  talked  with  her,  and  then  I  talked  cross  and 
harsh.  I'll  say  nothing  to  vex  her  now.  Go,  get  the  shovel, 
if  you  can,  and  when  you  come  back,  we'll  take  her,  and  I'll 
show  you  where  to  dig.  By  that  time  we'll  have  day  to  help 
us." 

Bannister  departed  without  a  word,  and  left  the  father  with 
his  dead.  We  will  not  intrude  upon  his  sorrows ;  but,  when 
the  whole  history  of  the  humble  pair  is  considered,  no  sight 
could  be  more  mournful  than  to  behold  the  two — there,  in 
that  lonely  and  darksome  maze  of  forest — at  midnight — the 
flickering  firelight  cast  upon  the  pallid  features,  almost  trans- 
parent, of  the  fair,  dead  girl,  while  the  father  looked  on,  and 
talked,  and  wept,  as  if  his  tears  could  be  seen,  and  his  excuses 
and  self-reproaches  heard,  by  the  poor  child  that  had  loved  so 
warmly,  and  had  been  so  hardly  dealt  with  by  all  whom  she 
had  ever  loved.  Conway  had  ruined  her  peace  and  happiness ; 
her  father  had  driven  her  from  her  home ;  and  he,  who  had 
never  wilfully  meant,  or  said,  her  wrong,  had  inflicted  the  fatal 
blow  which  had  deprived  her  of  life — perhaps,  the  stroke  of 
mercy  and  relief  to  a  crushed  and  wounded  spirit  such  as  hers ! 
Truly,  there  was  the  hand  of  a  fate  in  this — that  fate  that 
surely  follows  the  sad  lapses  of  the  wilful  heart !  Hers  was 
rather  weak  than  wilful ;  but  weakness  is  more  commonly  the 
cause  of  vice  than  wilfulness;  and  firmness  is  one  of  those 
moral  securities,,of  inappreciable  value,  without  which  there  is 
little  virtue. 


AN  INTERVIEW  BETWEEN  THE  TWO  SCOUTS.  349 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

AN    INTERVIEW   BETWEEN   THE    TWO   SCOUTS. 

MEANWHILE,  the  alarm  had  been  given  at  Brier  Park,  and 
the  whole  house  was  in  commotion.  Watson  Gray  was  the  first 
to  stumble  up,  and  into  consciousness,  upon  the  flight  of  Mary 
Clarkson ;  simply  because  he  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  feel 
the  full  force  of  the  flying  footsteps  of  her  father.  But  several 
moments  had  elapsed  after  her  departure,  before  the  discovery 
of  the  fact  was  made,  and  the  pursuit,  which  was  then  offered, 
appears  to  have  taken  a  wrong  direction.  Certainly,  they  did 
not  find  the  place  of  her  concealment,  nor  the  traces  of  her 
flight. 

Yet  no  pains  were  spared  to  do  so.  The  circumstances  were 
mysterious  and  exciting; — to  Flora  Middleton,  particularly  so. 
She  reproached  herself,  though,  certainly  without  justice,  for 
having  left  the  poor  girl  in  the  custody  of  a  drowsy  servant ; 
and  her  self-chidings  were  by  no  means  lessened  when  the 
minds  of  all  at  the  barony  appeared  to  settle  down  in  the  belief 
that,  in  her  delirium,  the  poor  girl  had  wandered  off  to  the  river 
banks  and  cast  herself  into  its  waters.  Thus,  a  second  time, 
was  the  innocent  Congaree  made  to  bear  the  reproach  of  parti- 
cipating in,  and  promoting,  the  destruction  of  the  same  unhappy 
life. 

In  the  chamber  of  the  outlaw,  the  feelings,  if  less  solemn  and 
tender,  were  surely  not  less  grave  and  serious.  To  Watson 
Gray,  the  mere  death  of  the  poor  victim  of  his  confederate, 
would  have  been  of  very  small  importance.  Perhaps,  indeftt, 
he  would  have  felt  that  it  was  a  benefit — a  large  step  gained 
toward  the  more  perfect  freedom  of  his  principal.  But  there 
were  some  circumstances  that  compelled  his  apprehensions. 
Who  had  been  in  the  chamber  ]  What  heavy  feet  were  they 


360  THE  SCOUT. 

that   trampled   upon   him?  —  and  why  was   that  strange   and 
formidable  knife  resting  beside  the  person  of  the  outlaw  ? 

That  somebody,  from  the  apartment  of  Mary  Clarkson,  had 
been  in  that  of  Edward  Conway,  was  soon  apparent  from  the 
discovery  of  the  little  lamp  which  the  former  had  carried,  and 
which  had  fallen  from  her  hands  upon  the  couch  of  the  latter, 
in  the  moment  when  she  saw  her  father's  face.  This  had  been 
recognised  by  the  servants,  and  the  fact  made  known  in  the  con- 
fusion of  the  search.  But,  though  Gray  felt  certain  that  Mary 
had  been  in  the  room,  he  felt  equally  certain  that  there  had 
been  another  also.  It  was  possible  that,  in  her  delirium,  the 
poor  girl  may  have  carried  the  knife  as  well  as  the  light,  and 
tnat  she  may  have  meditated  the  death  of  her  betrayer: — all 
that  was  natural  enough ;  but  Gray  felt  sure  that  a  heavier  foot 
had  trampled  upon  his  neck  and  breast. 

Naturally  of  a  suspicious  temper,  his  fears  were  confirmed, 
when,  issuing  from  the  house  at  the  first  alarm,  he  found  his 
guards  either  withdrawn,  or  straggling  toward  their  posts  in  al- 
most helpless  inebriety.  Their  condition  led  him  to  recall  the 
story  of  the  surgeon.  The  description  which  the  latter  gave  of 
the  stranger  who  had  penetrated  to  the  breakfast-room — his 
garments  of  blue  homespun,  and  the  huge  knife  which  he  car- 
ried— tended,  in  considerable  degree,  to  enlighten  him  on  the 
subject.  He  called  the  attention  of  the  surgeon  to  the  knife 
which  had  been  found  on  the  bed,  and  the  latter,  so  far  con- 
firmed the  identity  of  it  with  the  one  which  the  supposed  ghost 
was  seen  to  carry,  as  to  say  that  the  one  was  equally  large  of 
size  with  the  other ;  but  the  former  was  incomparably  more 
bright.  He  handled,  with  exceeding  caution,  the  dark  and 
dingy  instrument,  and  re-delivered  it,  with  fingers  that  seemed 
glad  to  be  relieved  from  the  unpleasant  contract. 

Seeing  the  surprise  of  the  scout  at  such  seeming  apprehen- 
sion, he  began  a  long  discourse  about  contagion,  infection,  and 
the  instinctive  dread  which  he  had  of  all  cutaneous  disorders ; 
to  all  of  which  Gray  turned  a  deaf  ear,  and  a  wandering  eye. 
The  outlaw  had  been  wakened  by  the  unavoidable  noise  of  tl\e 
search,  and  had  heard  with  some  surprise  and  interest  the  cir- 
cumstances which  were  detailed  to  him  by  Gray. 


AN   INTERVIEW  BETWEEN   THE   TWO   SCOUTS.  351 

"How  strange!"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  know  I  had  the 
sweetest  sleep,  in  which  I  dreamed  that  Maiy  and  myself  were 
walking  over  the  old  rice-dam  on  tho  Santee,  and  I  began  to 
feel  for  her  just  as  I  felt  then,  when  I  first  knew  her,  and  she 
seemed  twice  as  lovely,  and  twice  as  intelligent.  How  strange  !" 

Gray  had  judiciously  suppressed  some  of  the  circumstances 
connected  with  the  events  of  the  evening.  He  had  concealed 
the  knife  entirely,  and  forbore  stating  to  him,  as  well  as  to 
everybody  else,  everything  which  related  to  the  supposed  intru- 
sion of  some  stranger  into  the  household. 

"You  have  found  her,  Gray?"  said  the  outlaw,  when  the 
former  returned  from  the  search. 

"  No  !  she  is  nowhere  in  the  grounds." 

"  Indeed  !  could  she  have  wandered  to  the  river  ?" 

"  That  is  what  they  all  think." 

"  But  you  ?" 

"  I  know  not  what  to  think." 

"  Why  should  you  not  think  with  them  ?" 

"  I  should,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  me  to  have  strength 
enough  for  that.  The  river  is  a  mile  off;  and  she  was  evidently 
sinking  fast  when  I  saw  her  this  evening." 

"  Where,  then,  do  you  think  her  V1 

"  Somewhere  at  hand.  In  some  outhouse,  or  some  hole  or 
corner — or,  possibly,  in  some  ditch,  or  close  nest  of  bushes, 
where  we  can't  find  her  by  night." 

"  Good  God !  and  she  has  probably  perished  there — and 
thus!" 

Gray  was  silent,  and  the  outlaw  felt  the  returning  pangs  of 
that  remorse  which  most  probably  would  have  remained  unfelt, 
except  during  the  present  period  of  his  own  inability. 

"  Poor,  poor  Mary.  I  would.  Gray,  that  I  could  live  over 
some  things — some  moments — of  the  past !" 

"  Do  not  let  it  afflict  you  so  much.  It  can't  be  helped,  and 
these  things  are  common  enough." 

Ay,  common  enough,  indeed.  Nothing  more  common  than 
human  misery.  Nothing  more  common  than  the  human  guilt 
which  causes  it.  And  how  coolly  do  we  urge  the  commonness 
of  both,  by  way  of  reconciling  our  souls  to  their  recurrence ! 


352  THE  SCOUT. 

The  philosophy  of  Watson  Gray  is,  unhappily,  of  a  very  com- 
mon description. 

"  Yes,  yes.  But  such  a  catastrophe !  You  have  been  look- 
ing for  her  V9 

"  Yes,  for  the  last  two  hours." 

"  But  you  will  go  again.     You  must,  Gray." 

"  With  the  daylight,  I  intend  to  do  so." 

"  That's  well.  See  to  her,  for  God's  sake,  Gray,  and  if  she 
lives,  let  her  last  moments  be  easy.  If  all's  over,  see  her  care- 
fully buried  .  .  .  It's  an  ugly  business.  Would  I  were  free  of 
that  !  I  know  not  any.  blood  that  I  would  sooner  wish  to  wash 
from  my  hands  than  hers." 

"  That  should  be  the  wish  of  Clarence  Conway,  not  yours," 
said  Gray,  taking  the  literal  sense  of  the  outlaw's  expression. 

"  Ah,  Gray,  the  blow,  the  mere  blow,  is  a  small  matter.  If  I 
were  free  from  the  rest,  I  think  nothing  more  would  trouble  me. 
The  last  drop  ran  the  cup  over — but  who  filled  it  to  the  brim? 
who  drugged  it  with  misery  ?  who  made  the  poor  wretch  drink 
it,  persuading  her  that  it  was  sweet  and  pure  1  Ah,  Gray,  I 
fear  I  have  been  a  bad  fellow,  and  if  there  were  another  world 
hereafter — a  world  of  punishments  and  rewards  !" 

"  Your  situation  would  be  then  changed,  perhaps,"  was  the 
brutal  sneer  of  Gray,  "  and  every  privilege  which  you  had  in 
this  life  would  then  be  given  up  to  her.  Perhaps  you'd  better 
sleep,  captain  ;  sickness  and  want  of  sleep  are  not  good  helps  to 
a  reasonable  way  of  thinking." 

"  Gray,  I  suspect  you're  a  worse  fellow  than  myself,"  re- 
sponded the  outlaw,  with  a  feeble  effort  at  a  laugh.  "  Ten  to 
one,  the  women  have  more  to  complain  o/f  at  your  hands  than 
they  ever  had  at  mine." 

"  I  don't  know.  Perhaps.  But  I  think  not.  The  little  I 
know  of  them  makes  me  fancy  that  they're  a  sort  of  plaything 
for  grown  people.  As  long  as  they  amuse,  well  and  good,  and 
when  they  cease  to  do  so,  the  sooner  you  get  rid  of  them  the 
better.  When  I  was  a  young  man,  I  thought  differently.  That 
is,  I  didn't  think  at  all.  I  had  a  faith  in  love.  I  had  a  similar 
faith  in  sweetmeats  and  sugar-plums.  I  liked  girls  and  confec- 
tionery; and — perhaps  you  never  knew  the  fact  before — I 


AN  INTERVIEW   BETWEEN   THE   TWO   SCOUTS.  353 

married  one  young  woman,  not  very  much  unlike  your  Mary 
Clarkson." 

"  The  devil  you  did  !"  exclaimed  the  outlaw. 

"The  devil  I  did  marry!"  returned  the  other,  gravely. 
"  You  speak  the  very  words  of  truth  and  soberness.  She 
proved  worse  than  a  devil  to  me.  I  trusted  her  like  a  fool, 
as  I  was,  and  she  abused  me.  She  ran  off  with  my  best  horse, 
in  company  with  an  Indian  trader,  whom  I  took  into  my  cabin, 
fed  and  physicked.  He  seized  the  first  opportunity,  after  he 
'•got  well,  to  empty  my  house,  and  relieve  it  of  some  of  its 
troubles.  But  I  didn't  see  the  matter  in  its  true  light.  I 
wasn't  thankful.  I  gave  chase,  and  got  my  horse  back — that 
was  everything,  perhaps — just  after  they  had  left  Augusta." 

"  And  you  let  the  woman  go,  eh  ?" 

"  I  left  her  with  him,  where  I  found  them ;  and  they  liked 
the  spot  so  well,  that  I  think  any  curious  body  that  would  seek 
might  find  them  there  to  this  day.  I  have  some  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  she  has  been  more  quiet  with  him  than  she  ever  was 
with  me.  I  don't  believe  they  ever  quarrelled,  and  when  she 
was  my  wife  we  were  at  it  constantly." 

"You're  a  famous  fellow,  Gray!"  exclaimed  the  outlaw,  as 
he  listened  to  a  narrative  of  crime  which  was  only  remarkable, 
perhaps,  from  the  coolness  with  which  the  chief  actor  related  it. 

"  No,  captain,  not  famous.  To  be  famous  is  about  the  last 
thing  that  I  desire ;  and  I'm  thinking  you  don't  much  care 
about  it.  But  you'd  better  sleep  now.  Take  all  the  rest  you 
can,  and  don't  mind  anything  you  hear.  You'll  want  all  your 
strength  and  sense,  as  soon  as  you  can  get  it,  if  you  wish  to  get 
what  you  aim  at." 

'  No  doubt :  I'll  do  as  you  counsel.  But  see  after  the  poor 
girl  by  daylight." 

"  Yes,  yes !  we'll  take  all  the  care  that's  needful,"  was  the 
response. 

To  stifle  the  remorse  of  his  superior,  Gray  had  taken  a  way 
of  his  own,  and  one  that  was  most  successful.  The  cold  sneer 
is,  of  all  other  modes,  the  most  effectual  in  influencing  the  mind 
which  does  not  receive  its  laws  from  well-grounded  principles. 
How  many  good  purposes  have  been  parried  by  a  sneer !  How 


354  THE  SCOUT. 

many  clever  minds  have  faltered  in  a  noble  aim  by  the  sarcasm 
of  the  witling  and  the  worldling !  How  difficult  is  it  for  the 
young  to  withstand  the  curling  lip,  and  the  malignant  half-smile 
of  the  audacious  and  the  vain  !  Gray  knew  his  man ;  and,  in 
his  narration,  he  had  probably  shown  a  degree  of  contumelious 
indifference  to  the  character  of  woman,  and  the  ties  of  love, 
which  he  did  not  altogether  feel.  It  served  his  turn,  and  this 
was  all  that  he  desired  of  any  agent  at  any  time.  He  turned 
from  gazing  on  the  outlaw,  with  such  a  smile  as  showed,  how- 
ever he  might  be  disposed  to  toil  in  his  behalf,  he  was  still  able 
to  perceive,  and  to  despise,  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  weak- 
nesses of  the  latter. 

Leaving  the  chamber,  he  descended  to  the  area  in  front  of 
the  dwelling,  and  drew  together,  without  noise,  the  file  of  sol- 
diers that  had  been  left  with  him  by  Rawdon.  These  were 
now  tolerably  sobered;  and,  having  taken  pains  to  see  that 
their  arms  were  in  good  condition, — for  it  may  be  said  here 
that  the  smallest  part  of  Gray's  purpose  and  care  was  to  find 
the  girl  whom  it  was  his  avowed  object  to  seek, — he  led  them 
forth  into  the  adjoining  thicket  about  an  hour  before  the  dawn 
of  day. 

Of  the  reputation  of  Gray  as  a  woodsman  we  have  been 
already  more  than  once  informed,  and  the  suspicions  which  he 
entertained  were  such  as  to  make  him  address  all  his  capacity 
to  the  contemplated  search.  His  little  squad  were  cautioned  with 
respect  to  every  movement ;  and,  divided  into  three  parties  of 
four  men  each,  were  sent  forward  to  certain  points,  with  the 
view  to  a  corresponding  advance  of  all,  at  the  same  moment, 
upon  such  portions  of  the  woods  as  seemed  most  likely  to  harbor 
an  enemy.  Spreading  themselves  so  as  to  cover  the  greatest 
extent  of  surface,  yet  not  be  so  remote  from  each  other  as  to 
prevent  co-operation,  they  went  forward  under  the  circumspect 
conduct  of  their  leader,  with  sure  steps,  and  eyes  that  left  no 
suspicious  spot  uiiexamined  on  their  route. 

The  day  was  just  begun.  The  sun,  rising  through  the  dim 
vapory  haze  that  usually  hangs  about  him  at  the  beginning  of 
his  pathway  in  early  summer,  shed  a  soft,  faint  beauty  upon  a 
gentle  headland  that  jutted  out  upon  the  Congaree,  and  com- 


AN  INTERVIEW  BETWEEN  THE  TWO  SCOUTS.  355 

pelled  its  currents  to  turn  aside  from  the  direct  route,  making  a 
sweep  around  it,  most  like  the  curve  of  a  crescent.  Some 
thirty  steps  in  the  background  was  a  clump  of  massive  trees 
the  principal  of  which  were  oak  and  hickory.  They  grew 
around  one  eminent  pine  that  stood  alone  of  all  its  species,  as  it 
was  alone  in  its  height  and  majesty.  At  the  foot  of  this  tree, 
and  under  the  catheral  shelter  of  the  oaks,  John  Bannister  was 
busy  in  throwing  out  the  earth  for  the  spot  chosen  by  Clarkson 
for  his  daughter's  grave.  The  father  sat  at  a  little  distance  in 
the  background,  his  child's  head  lying  in  his  lap.  The  labors 
of  Bannister  had  been  severe,  and  he  would  not  suffer  the  old 
man  to  assist  him.  The  earth  was  rigid,  and  the  innumerable 
roots  of  the  contiguous  trees  traversed,  in  every  direction,  the 
spot  chosen  for  the  grave.  Fortunately  the  stout  woodsman 
had  secured  an  axe  as  well  as  a  shovel,  and  the  vigor  of  his 
arm  at  length  succeeded  in  the  necessary  excavation. 

To  remedy,  as  far  as  he  might,  the  want  of  a  coffin,  the  worthy 
fellow  had  stripped  the  rails  from  the  neighboring  fences,  and  he 
now  proceeded  to  line,  with  them,  the  bottom  and  sides  of  the 
grave.  These  were  in  turn  lined  with  pine  bark  and  green  moss, 
and  the  couch  of  death  was  spread  with  as  much  care  and  ten- 
derness, under  the  cheerless  circumstances,  as  if  wealth  had 
brought  its  best  offerings,  and  art  had  yielded  its  most  ingenious 
toils  in  compliance  with  the  requisitions  of  worldly  vanity. 

Bannister  was  yet  in  the  grave,  making  these  dispositions, 
when  Watson  Gray,  with  his  soldiers,  advanced  upon  the  party. 
To  old  Clarkson  the  task  had  been  assigned  of  keeping  watch. 
It  was  physically  impossible  that  Bannister  should  do  so  while 
deep  buried  and  toiling  in  the  earth.  The  old  man  was  too 
much  absorbed  in  contemplating  the  pale  features  of  his  child, 
and  too  full  of  the  strife  within  his  heart,  to  heed  the  dangers 
from  without ;  and  so  cautious  had  been  the  approach  of  Gray 
and  his  party,  that  they  were  upon  the  sufferer  before  he  could 
rise  from  liis  feet  pr  make  the  slightest  effort  to  relieve  himself 
from  his  burthen. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Bannister  that,  being  in  the  grave  and 
stooping  at  the  time,  he  was  below  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and 
remained  unseen  at  the  time  when  Clarkson  was  taken.  But, 


356  THE  SCOUT. 

hearing  strange  voices,  he  immediately  conjectured  the  approach 
of  enemies,  and  cautiously  peering  above  the  grave,  beheld  at  a 
glance  the  danger  which  threatened  him.  He  saw  Watson  Gray, 
conspicuous,  and  standing  directly  above  the  person  of  Clarkson, 
whose  daughter's  head  still  lay  in  his  lap.  One  of  his  hands 
was  pressed  upon  her  bosom,  as  if  he  felt  some  apprehension 
that  she  would  be  taken  from  him.  On  either  hand  of  Gray  he 
beheld  a  group  of  soldiers,  and  a  glance  still  further,  to  the  right 
and  left,  showed  that  they  were  so  placed  as  to  present  them- 
selves on  every  side  between  him  and  the  forest.  His  flight 
seemed  entirely  cut  off.  But  the  coolness  and  courage  of  the 
woodman  did  not  leave  him  in  the  emergency.  He  had  already 
resolved  upon  his  course,  and  rising  rapidly  to  the  surface,  he 
became  visible  to  his  enemies.  The  voice  of  Watson  Gray  was 
heard  at  the  same  instant,  calling  to  him  to  surrender. 

"Good  quarter,  Supple  Jack  ! — be  quiet  and  take  it.  You 
can't  get  off.  You're  surrounded." 

The  tone  of  exultation  in  which  the  rival  scout  addressed  him, 
made  it  a  point  of  honor  with  Bannister  to  reject  his  offer,  even 
if  he  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  assurance  of  safety 
meant  nothing.  He  well  knew,  in  those  days,  what  the  value 
of  such  an  assurance  was;  for  Tarleton,  Rawdon,  and  Corn- 
wallis,  had  long  since  shown  themselves  singularly  reckless  of 
all  pledges  made  to  "  the  poor  bodies  who  were  out"  in  the  re- 
bellion of  '76. 

"  Make  terms  when  you've  got  me,  Watson  Gray,"  was  the 
scornful  answer  of  the  scout.  "  The  only  quarters  I  ax  for  is  my 
own,  and  I'll  save  them  when  I've  got  'em." 

"  If  you  run,  I  shoot !"  cried  Gray  threateningly.  "  Look ;  my 
men  are  all  around  you." 

"  I  reckon  then  I'll  find  'em  in  the  bottom  of  the  Congaree ;" 
was  the  fearless  answer,  as  the  scout  leaped  for  the  river  bank 
with  the  speed  of  an  antelope. 

"Shoot!"  cried  Gray — "Shoot  him  as  he  runs!  Fire! 
Fire !" 

The  volleys  rang  on  every  side,  but  the  fugitive  remained 
erect.  He  had  reached  the  river  bank.  He  seemed  unhurt. 
His  enemies  pressed  forward  in  pursuit ;  and  the  scout  clapping 


AN   INTERVIEW   BETWEEN  THE   TWO   SCOUTS.  857 

his  open  palms  together  above  his  head,  plunged  boldly  into  the 
stream,  and  disappeared  from  sight. 

Bannister  could  swim  like  an  otter,  and  with  head  under  wa- 
ter almost  as  long.  But  once  he  rose  to  breath,  and  his  ene- 
mies, who  waited  for  his  re-appearance  with  muskets  cocked, 
now  threw  away  their  fire  in  the  haste  with  which  they  strove , 
to  take  advantage  of  his  rising.  When  he  next  became  visible, 
he  was  on  the  opposite  shore,  and  bade  them  defiance.  A  bit- 
ter laugh  answered  to  their  shout  as  he  turned  away  slowly  and 
reluctantly,  and  disappeared  in  the  distant  thickets. 

Gray  had  lost  his  prey  a  second  time,  and  he  turned,  with  no 
good  humor,  to  the  prisoner  with  whom  he  had  been  more  suc- 
cessful. 

"  Who  are  you — what's  your  name  ?" 

"Jacob  Clarkson!" 

"  Ha !  you  are  then  the  father  of  this  girl  ?" 

"  Yes  !"  was  the  sad  reply  of  the  old  man,  as  his  head  sank 
upon  his  breast. 

"  Do  you  know  this  knife  V1  demanded  Gray,  showing  the 
knife  which  had  been  found  at  the  bedside  of  Morton  i 

"  It  is  mine." 

"  Where  did  you  lose,  or  leave  it  ?" 

"  I  know  not.     I  dropped  it  somewhere  last  night." 

"  Where — at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Middleton  ?" 

"  It  may  be — I  was  there  !" 

"  You  were  in  the  chamber  of  Captain  Morton !" 

"  Not  that  I  know  on,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Beware !  You  cannot  deceive  me.  You  stood  beside  his 
bed.  You  went  there  to  murder  him.  Confess  the  truth  : — did 
you  not  1" 

"  No  !"  cried  the  old  man,  starting  to  his  feet.  "  I  did  go  there 
to  murder  a  man,  but  God  forbid  it.  I  couldn't,  though  he  was 
laying  there  before  me.  She  come  between.  She  made  me 
stop,  or  I'd  ha'  killed  him  in  another  moment.  But  it  was  Ed- 
ward Conway  that  I  would  have  killed.  I  know  nothing  about 
Captain  Morton." 

"  Ha !  I  see  it.  Hither,  Sergeant  Bozman.  Tie  this  fellow's 
hands  behind  him." 


858  THE  SCOUT. 

^p 

"  Hands  off!"  cried  the  old  man,  with  a  sudden  show  of  fight 
— "  Hands  off,  I  tell  you !  I  must  first  put  her  in  the  ground." 

"  Give  yourself  no  trouble  about  that.  We'll  see  it  done," 
said  Gray. 

"  I  must  see  it  too,"  said  the  old  man  resolutely. 

The  resolution  he  expressed  would  have  been  idle  enough  had 
Gray  been  disposed  to  enforce  his  wishes ;  but  a  few  moments' 
reflection  induced  him,  as  no  evil  consequence  could  possibly  en- 
sue from  the  indulgence,  to  yield  in  this  respect  to  the  prisoner. 

"  The  old  rascal!"  he  exclaimed — "let  him  stay.  It's  per- 
haps only  natural  that  he  should  wish  to  see  it ;  and  as  they  have 
got  the  grave  ready,  put  her  in  at  once." 

"  Stay  !"  said  the  father,  as  they^vere  about  to  lift  the  body. 
"  Stay  !  —  only  for  a  minute  !"  and  while  the  soldiers,  more  in- 
dulgent perhaps  than  their  leader,  gave  back  at  his  solicitation, 
the  father  sank  to  the  ground  beside  her,  and  the  tones  of  his 
muttered  farewell,  mingled  with  his  prayer — though  the  words 
were  undistinguishable — were  yet  audible  to  the  bystanders. 

"Now,  I'm  ready,"  said  he,  rising  to  his  feet.  "Lay  her 
down,  and  you  may  tie  me  as  soon  after  as  you  please." 

The  burial  was  shortly  over.  No  other  prayer  was  said. 
Old  Clarkson  watched  the  sullen  ceremonial  to  its  completion, 
and  was  finally,  without  struggle  or  sign  of  discontent,  borne 
away  a  prisoner  by  his  inflexible  captor. 


GLIMPSES   OF    COMING    EVENTS.  359 

* 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

GLIMPSES    OF    COMING    EVENTS. 

THE  outlaw  did  not  hear  of  Mary  Olarkson's  death  without 
some  emotion ;  but  the  duration  of  his  remorse  was  short.  He 
soon  shook  himself  free  from  its  annoyances,  and  in  a  week 
more  it  was  forgotten.  Of  the  arrest  of  old  Clarkson,  his  own 
previous  danger  from  the  hafids  of  the  latter,  and  several  other 
details,  connected  with  his  proceedings,  Watson  Gray  did  not 
suffer  his  principal  to  know  anything.  His  main  object  was  to 
get  his  patient  up  and  on  his  legs  again,  foreseeing  that  a  time 
was  approaching,  when  a  sick  bed  could  be  no  security  for  either 
of  them  in  a  region  to  be  so  shortly  winnowed  with  the  sword  of 
an  enemy.  His  scouts  occasionally  arrived,  bringing  him  re- 
ports of  the  condition  of  the  country :  of  the  prospects  of  Raw- 
don's  army,  and  of  the  several  smaller  bodies  under  Greene, 
Sumter,  Marion,  and  Pickens. 

These  reports  counselled  him  to  make  all  speed.  He  did  not 
press  the  outlaw  with  the  intelligence  which  he  thus  obtained, 
for  fear  that  their  tendency  might  be  to  increase  his  anxiety,  and 
discourage  rather  than  promote  his  cure.  To  this  one  object, 
his  own  anxious  efforts  were  given,  without  stint  or  interruption! 
and  every  precaution  was  taken,  and  every  measure  adopted  by 
which  the  recovery  of  his  patient  might  be  effected.  No  nurse 
could  have  been  more  devoted,  no  physician  more  circumspect, 
no  guardian  more  watchful.  The  late  attempts  of  Clarkson  had 
given  him  a  mean  opinion  of  the  regulars  who  had  been  left  to 
take  care  of  the  barony ;  and  to  watch  them  was  the  most  irk- 
some, yet  necessary  duty,  which  he  had  undertaken.  But  he 
went  to  his  tasks  cheerfully,  and,  with  this  spirit,  a  strong  man 
may  almost  achieve  anything. 

The  tidings  which  were  sometimes  permitted  to  reach  the  ears 
of  Flora  Middleton,  were  of  no  inconsiderable  interest  to  that 


360  THE  SCOUT. 

maiden.  She  heard  frequently  of  Clarence  Conway,  and  always 
favorably.  Now  he  was  harassing  the  tories  on  the  upper  Sa- 
luda,  and  now  driving  them  before  him  into  the  meshes  of  Pick- 
ens  among  the  Unacaya  mountains.  The  last  tidings  in  respect 
to  him  which  reached  her  ears,  were  also  made  known  to  Wat- 
son Gray  by  one  of  his  runners ;  and  were  of  more  particular 
importance  to  both  of  them  than  they  were  then  fully  aware  of. 
It  was  reported  that  a  severe  fight  had  taken  place  between 
Conway's  Blues  and  the  Black  Riders.  The  latter  were  be- 
guiled into  an  ambush  which  Conway  had  devised,  after  the  or- 
dinary Indian  fashion,  in  the  form  of  a  triangle,  in  which  twen- 
ty-three of  the  Black  Riders  were  sabred,  and  the  rest  dispersed. 
Gray  did  not  greatly  regret  this  disaster.  He  was  now  anxious 
to  be  free  of  the  connection,  and,  perhaps,  he  conceived  this 
mode  of  getting  rid  of  them,  to  be  quite  as  eligible,  and,  cer- 
tainly, as  effectual  as  any  other. 

"That  fellow,  Stockton,  with  his  sly  second,  Darcy,  are  the 
only  chaps  that  might  trouble  us.  They  suspect  us  ;  they  know 
something,  perhaps ;  and  if  Conway  has  only  cut  them  up, 
along  with  the  twenty-three,  we  shall  count  him  as  good  an  al- 
ly as  the  best." 

Such  was  his  only  reflection  as  he  communicated  this  news  to 
the  outlaw,  his  principal. 

"  Ay,"  replied  the  latter,  "  but  why  was  there  no  lucky  bullet 
to  reward  the  conqueror.  That  hopeful  brother  of  mine  seems 
to  own  a  charmed  life,  indeed.  I  know  that  he  goes  into  the 
thick  of  it  always,  yet  he  seldom  gets  even  his  whiskers  singed. 
The  devil  takes  care  of  him  surely.  -He  has  proper  friends  in 
that  quarter." 

"  We  needn't  care  for  him,  captain,  so  long  as  Rawdon  lies 
between  us.  If  you  were  only  up  now,  and  able,  we  could  whip 
off  the  lady,  and  every  hair  of  a  negro,  and  take  shipping  be- 
fore they  could  say  Jack  Robinson,  or  guess  what  we  are  dri- 
ving at." 

"Ay',  if  I  were  only  up  !"  groaned  the  outlaw  writhing  upon 
his  couch.  "But  that  'if  is  the  all  and  everything." 

"  But  you  are  better.  You  are  much  stronger.  I  think  this 
last  week  has  done  wonders  for  you ;  and,  but  for  the  weakness, 


GLIMPSES   OP    COMING   EVENTS.  361 

and  the  gashes  in  your  face — "  The  speaker  paused  without  fin- 
ishing the  sentence. 

"  Very  comely,  no  doubt :  they  will  strike  a  lady  favorably, 
eh  ?  Do  you  not  think  they  improve  my  looks  wonderfully  V9 

There  was  something  of  bitterness  in  the  affected  indifference 
with  which  the  outlaw  made  this  comment.  The  other  made  no 
reply,  and  did  not  appear  to  heed  the  tone  of  complaint. 

"  Give  me  the  glass,  Gray,"  continued  the  outlaw. 

He  was  obeyed ;  the  mirror  was  put  into  his  hands,  and  he 
subjected  his  visage  to  a  long  scrutiny. 

"  Nothing  so  shocking,  after  all.  My  mouth  is  something 
enlarged,  but  that  will  improve  my  musical  ability.  I  shall  be 
better  able  to  sing  '  Hail  Britannia,'  in  his  majesty's  island  of 
Jamaica,  or  the  '  Still  vex'd  Bermoothes,'  to  one  or  other  of 
which  places  we  must  make  our  way.  Besides,  for  the  look  of 
the  thing,  what  need  I  care  ?  I  shall  be  no  longer  in  the  mar- 
ket j  and  my  wife  is  in  duty  bound  to  think  me  comely.  Eh, 
what  say  you,  Gray  ?" 

"  Yes,  surely ;  and  Miss  Middleton  don't  seem  to  be  one  to 
care  much  about  a  body's  looks." 

•'  Don't  you  believe  it,  Gray.  She's  a  woman  like  the  rest ; 
and  they  go  by  looks.  Smooth  flowing  locks,  big,  bushy  whis- 
kers,, and  a  bold,  death-defying  face  will  do  much  among  a  regi- 
ment of  women.  I've  known  many  a  sensible  woman — sensible 
I  mean  for  the  sex — seek  a  fool  simply  because  he  was  an  ass 
so  monstrous  as  to  be  unapproachable  by  any  other,  and  was, 
therefore,  the  fashion.  The  ugliness  is  by  no  means  an  objec- 
tion, provided  it  be  of  a  terrible  sort.  I  don't  know  but  that 
success  at  first  is  as  likely  to  attend  the  hideous  as  the  hand- 
some ;  that  is,  if  it  be  coupled  with  a  good  wit  and  a  rare 
audacity." 

"  The  notion  is  encouraging,  certainly ;  and  I  reckon  there's 
something  in  it — though  I  never  thought  of  it  before." 

"  There  is  !  It  is  a  truth  founded  upon  a  first  experience  of 
the  woman  heart.  Beauty  and  the  Beast  is  a  frequent  alliance." 

"  I  reckon  that  was  the  secret  of  the  snake  getting  the  better 
of  Mother  Eve  in  the  garden." 

"  Yes  :  the  snake  was  as  bold  and  subtle  as  he  was  ugly.  The 

16 


362  THE   SCOUT. 

boldness  and  subtleness,  reconciled  the  woman  to  the  beast ;  and, 
once  reconciled,  to  behold  without  loathmg,  she  soon  discovered 
a  beauty  in  his  very  ugliness.  If  not  handsome,  therefore,  be 
hideous ;  if  you  wish  to  succeed  with  woman  : — the  more  hide- 
ous (the  wit  and  audacity  not  being  wanting)  the  more  likely  to 
be  successful.  The  game  were  quite  sure  if,  to  the  wit  and 
boldness,  you  could  add  some  social  distinctions — wealth  or  no- 
bility for  example.  A  title,  itself,  is  a  thing  of  very  great  beauty. 
Now  were  I  a  lord  or  baronet — a  count  or  marquis — you  might 
slash  my  cheeks  with  half  a  score  more  of  such  gashes  as  these, 
and  they  would,  in  no  degree,  affect  my  fortune  withrthe  fair. 
In  that  is  my  hope.  I  must  buy  a  title  as  soon  as  I  have  my 
prize,  and  then  all  objections  will  disappear.  Still,  I  could  have 
wished  that  that  d — d  spiteful  brother  of  mine  had  subjected  me 
to  no  such  necessity.  He  might  have  slashed  hip  or  thigh,  and 
gratified  himself  quite  as  much  in  those  quarters." 

"  Let  us  carry  out  our  project,  and  you  have  your  revenge  !" 

"Ay,  and  there's  consolation  in  that  for  worse  hurts  than 
these.  But  hear  you  nothing  yet  from  below1?  What  from 
Pete  1  If  the  boats  fail  us  at  the  proper  time,  we  shall  be  in 
an  ugly  fix." 

"  They  will  not  fail  us.  Everything  now  depends  on  you.  If 
you  can  stir  when  the  time  comes " 

"  Stir — I  can  stir  now.  I  mean  to  try  my  limbs  before  the 
week's  out,  for,  as  the  fair  Flora  forbears  to  come  and  see  me, 
I  shall  certainly  make  an  effort  to  go  and  see  her.  Has  the 
poison  touched,  think  you?  Does  she  feel  it — does  she  be- 
lieve it  ?" 

The  outlaw  referred  to  the  slander  which  Gray  had  insinuated 
against  Clarence  Conway. 

"No  doubt.  She's  so  proud  that  there's  no  telling  where  it 
hurts  her,  and  she'll  never  tell  herself;  but  I  know  from  the 
flashing  of  her  eye,  after  I  said  what  I  did  about  Colonel  Con- 
way  and  Mary  Clarkson,  that  she  believed  and  felt  it.  Besides, 
captain,  I  must  tell  you,  that  she's  asked  after  you  more  kindly 
and  more  frequently  of  late.  She  always  asks." 

"  Ha  !  that's  a  good  sign ;  well  ?" 

"I  said  you  were  more  unhappy  than  sick.     That  you'd  got 


GLIMPSES   OF   COMING   EVENTS.  363 

over  tlie  body  hurts,  I  had  no  doubt.  But  then,  I  told  her  what 
an  awful  thing  to  fight  with  one's  brother,  and  how  much  you 
felt  that!" 

"Ha!     Well,  and  then ]" 

"  She  sighed,  but  said  nothing  more,  and  soon  after  went  out 
of  the  room." 

"  Good  seed,  well  planted.  I  shall  cultivate  tKe  plant  care 
fully.  I  fancy  I  can  manage  that." 

"  Psho  ! — Here's  the  surgeon,"  said  Gray,  interrupting  him 
with  a  whisper,  as  Mr.  Hillhouse  appeared  at  the  entrance. 

The  surgeon  had  forgotten,  or  forgiven,  the  slight  to  which 
his  patient  had  previously  subjected  him.  He  was  not  a  person 
to  remember  any  circumstance  which  might  be  likely  to  dispar- 
age him  in  his  own  esteem.  Besides,  his  head  was  now  running 
upon  a  project  which  made  him  disposed  to  smile  upon  all  man- 
kind. We  will  allow  him  to  explain  his  own  fancies. 

"  Mr.  Conway,  good  morning.  I  trust  you  feel  better.  Nay, 
I  see  you  do.  Your  eyes  show  it,  and  your  color  is  warming ;  — 
a  sign  that  your  blood  is  beginning  to  circulate  equally  through 
your  system.  Suffer  me  to  examine  your  pulse." 

"  I  feel  better,  sir,  stronger.  I  trust  to  get  fairly  out  of  my 
lair  in  a  week.  I  shall  make  a  desperate  attempt  to  do  so." 

"  You  are  better,  sir ;  but  do  nothing  rashly.  A  week  may 
produce  great  results.  There  are  but  seven  days  in  a  week,  Mr. 
Conway — but  a  poor  seven  days — yet  how  many  events — 
how  many  fates — how  many  deeds  of  good  and  evil,  lie  in  that 
space  of  time.  Ah  !  I  have  reason  to  say  this  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart.  A  week  here,  sir,  at  this  barony,  has  changed  the 
whole  aspect  of  my  life."  A  sigh  followed  this  speech. 

"  Indeed !     And  how  so,  pray  !" 

"  You  see  in  me,  Mr.  Conway,  a  man  who  has  lived  a  great 
deal  in  a  short  space  of  time.  In  the  language  of  the  ancient 
poet  —  Ovid,  it  is — my  life  is  to  be  told  by  events,  and  not  by 
lingering  years.  It  is  a  book  crowded  with  events.  I  have 
passed  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  a  long  life  in  Europe, 
India,  and  America.  I  have  ate  and  drank,  marched  and  fought 
— played  the  man  of  pleasure  and  the  man  of  business — stood 
in  my  friend's  grave,  and  often  at  the  edge  of  my  own  j — saved 


364  THE  SCOUT.  ' 

life,  taken  life ;  and  practised,  suffered,  and  enjoyed,  all  things, 
and  thoughts,  and  performances,  which  are  usually  only  to  be 
known  to  various  men  in  various  situations.  But,  sir,  one 
humbling  accident — the  trying  event,  which  usually  occurs  to 
every  other  man  at  an  early  period  of  his  life,  has  hitherto,  by 
the  special  favor  of  a  benign  providence,  been  withheld  from 
mine !" 

"Ah,  sir,  and  what  may  that  be1?"  demanded  the  outlaw. 

"  I  have  never  loved,  sir — till  now.  Never  known  the  pang, 
and  the  prostration — the  hope  and  the  fear — the  doubt  and  the 
desire — till  the  fates  cast  me  upon  the  banks  of  the  Congaree ! 
Melancholy  conviction !  that  he  who  has  survived  the  charms 
of  Europe  and  India — who  has  passed  through  the  temptations 
of  the  noble  and  the  beautiful,  the  wealthy  and  the  vain,  of 
those  beguiling  regions — should  here  be  overtaken  and  over- 
come by  the  enemy  in  the  wild  woods  of  America." 

"  Indeed !  It  is  indeed  a  most  dreadful  catastrophe  !  Gray, 
hand  the  doctor  a  chair,  a  glass  of  water,  and  if  you  have  any 
Jamaica " 

"  No,  no  ! — I  thank  you,  no  ! — I  will  take  the  chair  only." 

"And  pray,  sir,"  said  the  outlaw  with  a  mock  interest  in  the 
subject — "when  did  you  suffer  from  the  first  attack,  and  who 
do  you  suspect  of  bewitching  you  2" 

"  Suspect  of  bewitching  me! — a  good  phrase  that! — I  like 
it.  My  suspicions,  sir,  as  well  as  yours,  should  naturally  be 
strong  that  I  am  the  victim  of  a  sort  of  witchcraft ;  for,  how 
else  should  a  man  fall  so  suddenly  and  strangely  in  a  strange 
land,  who  has  stood  unshaken  by  such  affections,  through  such 
a  life  as  mine  ?" 

"  Very  true  !  a  very  natural  reflection,  sir.  But  you  have  not 
said  who  you  suspect  of  this  cruel  business." 

"  Ah,  sir,  who  but  the  fair  damsel  of  this  very  house.  What 
woman  is  there  like  unto  her  in  all  the  land  ?" 

"Ha!     It  is  possible!" 

"  Possible  !  — why  not  possible  ?"  demanded  the  surgeon.  "  Is 
she  not  young,  and  fair,  and  rich  in  goods  and  chattels,  and  who 
so  likely  to  practise  sorcery  ?" 

"True,  true! — but  doctor,  are  you  aware  that  you  are  not 


GLIMPSES  OF  COMING  EVENTS.  365 

the  only  victim  ?     She  has  practised  with  perhaps  greater  suc- 
cess on  others." 

"  Indeed !     Tell  me,  I  pray  you,  sir !" 

"  Nay,  I  can  only  speak  from  hearsay.  My  friend  here,  Mr. 
Gray,  can  tell  you  more  on  the  subject.  The  story  goes — but 
I  must  refer  you  to  him.  Gray,  take  a  ramble  with  Mr.  Hill- 
house,  and  see  if  you  can  not  match  his  witchcraft  case  with  one 
or  more,  much  worse,  if  possible,  than  his  own,  and  springing 
from  the  same  fruitful  source  of  mischief.  Let  him  see  that  lie 
does  not  lack  for  sympathy." 

Gray  took  the  hint,  and  the  surgeon  readily  accepted  the  in- 
vitation to  a  walk,  in  which  the  former  continued  to  give  to  his 
companion  a  very  succinct  account  of  the  duel  between  the 
brothers,  and  the  engagement  supposed  to  be  existing  between 
Clarence  and  Flora.  The  artful  confederate  of  the  outlaw, 
taking  it  for  granted  that  a  person  so  supremely  vain  and  silly 
as  the  surgeon,  might  be  made  to  believe  anything,  and  could 
scarcely  keep  secret  that  which  he  heard,  arranged  his  materials 
in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  appear  that  the  fight  between  the 
brothers  arose  in  consequence  of  the  cruel  treatment  which 
Mary  Clarkson  had  received  at  the  hands  of  the  younger.  A 
purely  magnanimous  motive  led  the  elder  brother  into  the  dif- 
ficulty. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Conway,  your  patient,  as  soon  as  he  heard  that 
Colonel  Conway  was  courting  Miss  Middleton,  pursued  him,  only 
to  reproach  him  for  his  breach  of  promise  to  the  poor  creature. 
The  proud  stomach  of  Colonel  Conway  couldn't  bear  that,  and 
he  drew  upon  Mr.  Conway  and  wounded  him  in  the  face  before 
he  could  put  himself  in  preparation.  The  poor  girl  who  had 
been  following  the  colonel,  everywhere,  in  boy's  clothes,  ran  be- 
tween them,  and  got  her  death,  there's  no  telling  by  whose 
hands.  And  so  the  case  stands,  at  present.  Mr.  Conway,  your 
patient,  of  course  wouldn't  speak  against  his  brother ;  and  I 
s'pose,  the  marriage  will  go  on  between  him  and  Miss  Flora, 

unless she  may  have  changed  her  mind  since  you've  come 

to  the  barony." 

"Ah  !  ha !"  said  the  surgeon.  "  You've  enlightened  me  very 
much,  Mr.  Watson  Gray.  I'm  greatly  your  debtor.  You  are  a 


366  THE  SCOUT. 

» 

man  of  sense.  I  thank  you,  sir — I  thank  you  very  much. 
Suppose  we  return  to  the  mansion.  I  am  anxious  to  change 
these  garments." 

"  Change  them,  sir !     What,  your  dress  ?" 

The  blunt  mind  of  Gray  couldn't  perceive  the  association  of 
ideas  taking  place  in  the  brain  of  his  companion. 

"  Yes,  I  wish  to  put  on  a  dove-colored  suit.  The  dress  which 
I  now  wear,  does  not  suit  the  day,  the  circumstances,  nor  my 
present  feelings." 

"  What,  sir  ?"  demanded  Gray  in  feigned  astonishment.  "  Have 
you  got  a  change  for  every  day  in  the  week  1  I  have  but  one 
change  in  all." 

The  surgeon  turned  upon  the  speaker  with  a  look  which 
plainly  said :  — 

"  Impertinent  fellow,  to  venture  upon  such  an  offensive  com- 
parison." 

He  contented  himself,  however,  with  remarking :  — 

"  The  wants  of  men,  my  good  friend,  differ  according  to  their 
moral  natures,  the  moods,  and  changes  of  mind  by  which  they 
are  governed:  I  have  no  doubt  that  two  suits  will  be  ample 
enough  for  your  purposes ;  but  for  me,  I  have  always  striven  to 
make  my  costume  correspond  with  the  particular  feeling  which 
affects  me.  My  feelings  are  classed  under  different  heads  and 
orders,  which  have  their  subdivisions  in  turn,  according  to  the 
degree,  quality  and  strength  of  my  several  sensibilities.  Of  the 
first  orders,  there  are  two — pleasure  and  pain;  under  these 
heads  come  cheerfulness  and  sadness ;  these  in  turn  have  their 
degrees  and  qualities — under  the  first  is  hope,  under  the  second, 
fear — then  there  are  doubts  and  desires  which  follow  these; 
and  after  all,  I  have  omitted  many  still  nicer  divisions  which  I 
doubt  if  you  could  well  appreciate.  I  have  not  spoken  of  love 
and  hate — nor  indeed,  of  any  of  the  more  positive  and  em- 
phatic passions  — but,  for  all  of  which  I  have  been  long  provided 
with  a  suitable  color  and  costume." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you've  got  a  change  suitable 
for  every  one  of  these  1"  said  the  woodman  with  some  astonish- 
ment. 

"  You  inquire,  Mr.  Gray,  with  the  tone,.pf  one  who  will  not 


GLIMPSES  OP  COMING  EVENTS.  367 

be  likely  to  believe  any  assurance.  Oblige  me  by  witnessing 
for  yourself.  I  had  arranged  to  examine  my  wardrobe  this 
very  noon,  as  a  sort  of  mental  occupation,  with  which  I  relieve 
the  tedium  of  repose,  and  bad  weather,  and  unpleasant  anticipa- 
tions. Do  me  the  favor  to  assist  me  in  this  examination.  We 
may  probably  gather  from  it  some  useful  lessons,  and  I  will  en- 
deavor to  explain,  what  is  at  present  very  imperfectly  under- 
stood, the  singular  propriety  of  my  principles.  You  shall  be 
able,  when  you  have  heard  my  explanation,  to  know,  from  the 
dress  I  wear,  what  particular  condition  I  am  in  that  day.  A 
man's  costume,  if  properly  classed,  is  a  sort  of  pulse  for  his  tem- 
per. This  morning,  when  I  rose,  under  the  influence  of  one  set 
of  moods,  I  put  on  a  meditation  costume.  I  am  in  a  brown 
dress  you  see.  That  shows  that,  when  I  put  it  on,  I  was  in 
what  is  vulgarly  called  a  '  brown  study.'  Circumstances,  the 
ground  of  which  you  can  not,  perhaps,  conjecture,  prompt  me 
to  go  back  and  change  it  for  one  of  a  dove  color.  You  may 
perhaps  comprehend  the  meaning  of  this  hereafter. 

"  I  reckon  it's  something  about  love,  that  dove  color,"  said 
Gray  bluntly.  "  Dove  and  love  always  go  together." 

"  Ah,  you  are  quick.  You  are  naturally  an  intelligent  person, 
I  suspect.  You  will  comprehend  sooner  than  I  expected.  But 
come  and  see — come  and  see." 

"  This  fool  will  do  us  excellent  service,"  said  the  outlaw,  when, 
at  his  return,  Watson  Gray  recounted  the  events  of  the  interview. 

"  He  will  go  to  Flora  Micldleton  in  his  dove-colored  small- 
clothes, and  find  some  way  of  letting  her  know  what  a  scamp 
Clarence  Conway  is,  and  what  a  martyr  I  have  been  to  the 
cause  of  innocence  betrayed.  You  did  not  let  him  guess  that  I 
had  a  hankering  after  Flora  myself?" 

"  Surely  not :  I  just  let  him  know  enough  of  the  truth  to  lie 
about.  A  fool  can  do  an  immense  deal  of  mischief  with  the  tail- 
end  of  a  truth." 

"  Which  is  always  slippery,"  said  the  outlaw.  "  Well,  mis- 
chief can  do  us  no  harm.  In  this  case,  it  is  our  good — it  works 
for  us.  Let  him  kill  Clarence  Conway  off  in  her  esteem,  and 
he,  certainly,  is  not  the  thing  to  be  afraid  of.  But  did  you 
really  count  his  breeches  ?" 


368  THE  SCOUT. 

"  No,  God  help  me  !  I  shook  myself  free  from  him  as  soon 
as  I  could.  I'd  as  soon  pry  among  the  petticoats  of  my  grand- 
mothers. But  he  had  an  enormous  quantity.  I  reckon  he's  used 
up  all  his  pay,  ever  since  he  began,  in  this  sort  of  childishness." 

The  conjectures  of  the  outlaw,  as  respects  the  course  of  the 
exquisite,  were  soon  realised.  But  a  few  days  had  elapsed 
when  he  availed  himself  of  an  opportunity  to  pursue  Flora  as 
he  saw  her  taking  her  way  through  the  grounds  in  the  direction 
of  the  river.  His  toilet,  however,  was  not  completed  when  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  person  through  the  window ;  and  the 
task  of  completing  it — always  one  of  considerable  pains  and 
duration — enabled  her  to  get  considerably  the  start  of  him. 
She  had  passed  the  sentinels,  who  were  sauntering  at  their  sta- 
tions, and  had  reached  the  lonely  vault  where  her  ancestors 
reposed.  The  solemn  shadows  of  the  wood  by  which  it  was 
encircled  pleased  her  fancy ;  and,  the  united  murmurs  of  the 
pine-tops  and  the  waters  of  the  Oongaree,  as  they  hurried  on  at 
a  little  distance  below,  beguiled  her  thoughts  into  the  sweet 
abodes  of  youthful  meditation. 

Flora  Middleton  was,  as  we  have  endeavored  to  show,  a 
maiden  of  deeper  character  and  firmer  qualities  than  usually 
distinguish  her  age ;  perhaps,  indeed,  these  characteristics  are 
not  often  possessed  in  equal  degree  among  her  sex.  Firmness 
of  character  usually  implies  a  large  share  of  cheerfulness  'and 
elasticity ;  and  these  also  were  attributes  of  her  mind.  Her 
life,  so  far,  had  been  free  from  much  trial.  She  had  seldom 
been  doomed  to  suffering.  Now,  for  almost  the  first  time,  the 
shadows  of  the  heart  gathered  around  her,  making  her  feet  to 
falter,  and  bringing  the  tears  into  her  eyes.  The  supposed 
infidelity  of  Clarence  Conway  had  touched  her  deeply — more 
deeply  than  even  she  had  at  first  apprehended.  When  she 
first  heard  the  accusation  against  him,  and  saw  the  wretched 
condition  of  the  poor  girl  whom  she  believed  to  be  destroyed  by 
his  profligacy,  she  said,  in  the  fervor  of  virtuous  indignation 
which  prevailed  in  her  mind  :  — 

"  I  will  shake  him  off  for  ever,  and  forget  that  I  ever  knew 
him!" 

But  the  resolution  was  more  easily  taken  than  kept.     Each 


GLIMPSES   OP   COMING   EVENTS.  369 

subsequent  hour  had  increased  the  difficulties  of  such  a  resolu- 
tion ;  and,  in  the  seeming  death  of  her  hopes  alone,  she  discov- 
ered how  entirely  her  heart  had  found  its  life  in  their  preserva- 
tion. When  she  believed  the  object  of  her  attachment  to  be 
worthless  —  then,  and  not  till  then,  did  she  feel  how  miserable 
its  losi  would  make  her  heart.  Perhaps,  but  for  the  very  firm- 
ness of  character  of  which  we  have  spoken,  she  would  neither 
have  made  nor  maintained  such  a  resolution.  How  many  are 
the  dependent  hearts  among  her  sex,  who  doubt,  mistrust,  fear, 
falter — and  yet,  accept! — who  dare  not  reject  the  unworthy, 
because  they  can  not  forbear  to  love. 

Flora  Middleton  felt  the  pain  of  the  sacrifice  the  more  deeply 
in  consequence  of  the  conviction,  which  her  principles  forced 
upon  her,  that  it  must  yet  be  made.  Could  she  have  faltered 
with  her  pride  and  her  principles,  she  would  not  have  found  the 
pain  so  keen.  But  she  was  resolute. 

"No!  no!"  she  murmured  to  herself,  as  all  the  arguments 
of  love  were  arrayed  before  her  by  the  affections — "  No  !  no  ! 
though  it  kill  me  to  say  the  words-,  yet  I  will  say  them. 
Clarence  Conway,  we  are  sundered — separated  for  ever!  I 
might  have  borne  much,  and  witnessed  much,  and  feared  much, 
but  not  this.  This  crime  is  too  much  for  the  most  devoted  love 
to  bear." 

She  was  suddenly  startled  from  her  meditations  by  a  slight 
whistle  at  a  little  distance.  This  was. followed  by  a  voice. 

"  Hist !"  was  the  gentle  summons  that  demanded  her  atten- 
tion from  the  thicket  on  the  river-banks,  as  she  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  grounds.  Her  first  feminine  instinct  prompted 
her  to  fly ;  but  the  masculine  resolution  of  her  mind  emboldened 
her,  and  she  advanced  toward  the  spot  whence  the  summons 
proceeded.  As  she  approached,  a  head,  and  then  the  shoulders 
of  a  man,  were  elevated  to  the  surface,  as  if  from  the  bed  of  the 
river ;  and  a  closer  approximation  proved  the  stranger  to  be  an 
old  acquaintance. 

"  John  Bannister  !"  exclaimed  the  maiden. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Flora,  the  very  man — what's  left  of  him." 

" '  What's  left  of  him,'  John  Bannister  ?  Why,  what's  the 
matter  ?  are  you  hurt  ?". 

16* 


370  THE  SCOUT. 

"No,  no,  Miss  Flora — I  say  'what's  left  of  me,' only  be- 
cause, you  see,  I  don't  feel  as  ef  I  am  altogether  a  parfect  man, 
when  I  have  to  dodge  and  shirk  about,  not  able  to  find  my 
friends,  and  always  in  a  sort  of  scatteration  of  limbs,  for  fear 
that  my  enemies  will  find  me.  I  am  pretty  well  to  do  in  health 
at  this  present,  thanks  be  to  God  for  all  his  marcies ;  though, 
when  you  saw  me  last,  I  reckon  you  thought  I  was  in  a  bad 
fix.  But  I  give  'em  the  slip  handsomely,  and  used  their  own 
legs  in  coming  off." 

"  How  was  it,  Bannister  ?  .  .  .  But  come  up.  You  must  be 
standing  rather  uncomfortably  there." 

"  Pretty  well-off,  thank  ye.  There's  a  dug-out  under  me, 
and  as  I've  only  a  word  or  two  to  say,  I  needn't  git  up  any 
higher  to  say  it." 

"  Well,  as  you  please ;  but  how  did  you  make  your  escape 
from  the  British,  John  ?" 

"  Ah,  that's  a  long  story,  Miss  Flora,  and~there's  no  needces- 
sity  for  telling  it,  any  how.  Some  other  time,  when  the  war's 
over,  and  every  man  can  be  brave  a  bit,  without  danger,  I'll  let 
you  know  the  sarcumstances.  But  jest  now,  what  I  come  for 
is  to  give  you  warning.  You've  got  a  sly  rascal  as  ever  lived  in 
your  house,  at  this  present,  that  never  yet  was  in  any  one  place 

so  long  without  doing  mischief — one  Watson  Gray " 

"  Why,  he's  attending  on  Mr.  Conway." 
"  It's  a  pair  on  'em,  I  tell  you.  That  Watson  Gray's  after 
mischief,  and  it's  a  mischief  that  has  you  in  it.  But  don't  be 
scared.  I  want  to  let  you  know  that  there's  one  friend  always 
at  your  sarvice,  and  nigh  enough  to  have  a  hand  in  any  business 
that  consarns  his  friends.  If  anything  happens,  do  you  see,  jest 
you  hang  a  slip  of  white  stuff — any  old  rag  of  a  dress  or  hand- 
kerchief—  on  this  bluff  here,  jest  where  you  see  me  standing, 
and  I'll  see  it  before  you've  gone  fur,  or  I'm  no  scout  fit  for  the 
Congaree.  Ef  there's  danger  to  you,  there's  help  too ;  and,  so 
far  as  the  help  of  a  good  rifle  and  a  strong  arm  can  go  —  and 
I  may  say,  Miss  Flora,  without  familiarity,  a  good  friend  — 
dang  my  buttons  ef  you  sha'n't  have  it." 

"  But,  John,  from  what  quarter  is  this  danger  to  come  1    What 
is  it  ?  how  will  it  come  ?" 


GLIMPSES  OF  COMING  EVENTS.  371 

•*. 

"  All,  that's  the  danger.  You  might  as  well  ax  in  what  shape 
Satan  will  come  next.  But  the  d — 's  in  your  house,  that's 
enough.  Be  careful,  when  he  flies,  he  don't  cany  off  much  more 
than  he  brought  in.  Maybe  you'll  see  a  man,  to-morrow  or  the 
next  day,  coming  to  Watson  Gray's.  He's  about  my  heft,  but  jest 
with  one  half  the  number  of  arms.  He's  a  stout  chap,  poor  fel- 
low, to  be  cut  short  in  that  way.  Now,  you  can  trust  him.  Ef 
he  says  to  you  '  Come,'  do  you  come.  Ef  he  says  '  Stay,'  then 
do  you  stay ;  for  he's  honest,  and  though  he  seems  to  be  work- 
ing for  Watson  Gray,  he's  working  handsomely  agin  him.  You 
can  trust  him.  He's  our  man.  I  convarted  him  to  a  good 
onderstanding  of  the  truth  of  liberty ;  but  I  had  to  make  every 
turn  of  it  clear  to  him  before  he'd  believe.  We  had  two  good 
argyments  to  try  the  case ;  but  I  throw'd  him  the  last  time,  and 
he's  been  sensible  to  the  truth  ever  sence.  'Twas  him  that 
helped  me  out  of  the  British  clutches  t'other  day.  But  we 
won't  talk  of  that.  Only  you  jest  believe  him,  and  hang  out 
the  white  flag,  here  under  the  bluff,  ef  ever  you  need  a  friend's 
sarvice." 

"  You  confound  and  confuse  me  only,  John  Bannister,  by  what 
you  have  said.  I  believe  that  you  mean  me  well,  and  that  you 
think  there  is  some  danger ;  and  I  am  willing  to  trust  you.  But 
I  don't  like  this  half-confidence.  Speak  out  plainly.  What  am 
I  to  fear  1  I  am  a  woman,  it's  true,  but  I  am  not  a  coward.  I 
think  I  can  hear  the  very  worst,  and  think  about  it  with  toler- 
able courage  afterward ;  nay,  assist  somewhat,  perhaps,  in  your 
deliberations." 

"  Lord  love  you,  Miss  Flora,  ef  I  was  to  tell  you  the  little, 
small,  sneaking  signs,  that  makes  a  scout  know  when  he's  on 
trail  of  an  inimy,  you'd  mout-be  only  laugh.  You  wouldn't  be- 
lieve, and  you  couldn't  onderstand.  No,  no !  jest  you  keep 
quiet  and  watch  for  the  smoke.  As  soon  as  you  see  the  smoke, 
you'll  know  there's  a  fire  onder  it ;  which  is  as  much  as  to  say, 
jest  Avhen  you  see  anything  onderhand  going  on — scouts  run- 
ning this  way,  and  scouts  running  that,  and  Watson  Gray  at  the 
bottom  of  all  and  busy — then  you  may  know  brimstone's  going 
to  burn,  and  maybe  gunpowder.  Keep  a  sharp  eye  on  that 
same  Watson  Gray.  Suspicion  him  afore  all.  He's  a  cunning 


372  THE   SCOUT. 

sarpent  that  knows  how  to  hide  tinder  a  green  bush,  and  look 
like  the  yallow  flow'r  that  b'longs  to  it." 

"  You  said  something  about  Mr.  Conway — Mr.  Edward  Con- 
way,  John  V 

He's  another  sarpent.     But " 

The  head  of  the  scout  sank  below  the  bank.  He  had  disap- 
peared, as  it  were,  in  the  bottom  of  the  river ;  and  while  Flora 
Middleton  trembled  from  apprehension,  lest  he  had  sunk  into 
the  stream,  she  was  relieved  by  the  accents  of  a  voice  at  some 
little  distance  behind  her,  as  of  one  approaching  from  the  house. 
She  turned  to  encounter  Mr.  Surgeon  Hillhouse,  now,  in  his 
dove-colored  small-clothes. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE    RETURN    OF   THE   BLACK    RIDERS. 

THE  reader  is  already  familiar  with  the  business  of  the  sur- 
geon, and  has  probably  conjectured  the  sort  of  answer  which  he 
received  from  the  heiress  of  Middleton  Barony.  His  dove- 
colored  garments,  and  rose-color  address,  availed  him  little; 
though,  it  may  be  added,  such  was  the  fortunate  self-complai- 
sance of  the  suitor,  that,  when  he  retired  from'  the  field,  he  was 
still  in  considerable  doubt  of  the  nature  of  the  answer  which  he 
had  received.  It  was  still  a  question  in  his  mind  whether  he 
had  been  refused  or  not. 

According  to  his  usual  modes  of  thinking,  his  doubts  were 
reasonable  enough.  He  had  taken  more  than  ordinary  pains  to 
perfect  himself  in  the  form  of  application  which  he  intended  to 
use.  His  fine  sayings  had  been  conned  with  great  circumspec- 
tion, and  got  by  rote  with  the  persevering  diligence  of  a  school- 
boy or  a  parrot.  He  had  prepared  himself  to  say  a  hundred 
handsome  phrases.  The  colors  of  the  rainbow,  and  the  various 
odors  of  the  flowers,  had  been  made  to  mingle  hi  a  delicate 
adaptation  to  his  particular  parts  of  speech,  in  all  the  best  graces 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BLACK  RIDERS.  373 

of  that  Euphuism  of  which,  among  his  own  clique,  he  had  been 
usually  recognised  as  the  perfect  master.  He  knew  that  Lady 
Belle  would  have  turned  up  her  eyes  to  heaven,  in  new-born 
ecstasies,  had  he  but  spoken  his  pretty  speeches  to  her ;  and 
those  of  Lady  Grace  would  have  been  filled  with  tears  of  a  simi- 
lar delight.  How  could  he  bring  himself  to  believe  that  they 
had  been  thrown  away  on  the  unpractised  auditories  of  the  maid 
of  Congaree  ? 

/  The  more  he  asked  himself  this  question,  the  more  difficult 
became  his  belief,  and  by  the  time  that  he  reached  his  chamber, 
he  was  convinced  that,  at  the  most,  he  had  only  suffered  an 
evasion — such  an  evasion  as  dandies  are  apt  to  practise  upon 
their  tailors,  when  they  avoid,  without  refusing,  payment — such 
an  evasion  as  a  cunning  damsel  might  practise  upon  her  lover, 
lest  a  too  sudden  concession  might  cheapen  the  value  of  her 
charms.  So  consoling  was  this  new  conviction,  that  he  deter- 
mined, in  discarding  his  dove-colored  small-clothes,  not  to  put  on 
his  "Nightshade," — so  he  called  his  "Despondency"  or  "Dis- 
appointment-dress ;"  but  to  select  a  dark  orange-tinted  garment 
—  his  "  Pleasant-sadness" — as  more  certainly  expressive  of  min- 
gled hope  and  doubt,  than  any  other  color.  The  serious  exami- 
nation which  took  place  in  his  mind,  and  of  his  wardrobe,  before 
his  choice  was  determined,  served,  beneficially,  to  sustain  his 
sensibilities  under  the  shock  which  they  had  necessarily  suffered. 
That  evening  he  was  pleasingly  pensive,  and  his  eloquence  was 
agreeably  enlivened  by  an  occasional  and  long-drawn  sigh. 

Flora  Middleton  did  not  suffer  this  "Mosca"  to  afflict  her 
thoughts.  Naturally  of  a  serious  and  earnest  character,  she  had 
other  sources  of  disquietude  which  effectually  banished  so  light 
an  object  from  her  contemplation ;  and  nothing  could  so  com- 
pletely have  mystified  the  surgeon,  as  the  calm,  unmoved,  and 
utterly  unaffected  manner  with  which  she  made  the  usual  inqui- 
ries at  the  evening  table. 

"  Does  your  coffee  suit  you,  Mr.  Hillhouse  1  Is  it  sweet 
enough  ?" 

"  Would  all  things  were  equally  so,  Miss  Middleton.  We 
might  dispense  with  the  sweet  in  the  coffee,  could  we  escape 
from  the  bitter  of  life." 


374  THE  SCOUT. 

"  I  should  think,  sir,  that  you  had  not  been  compelled  to  drink 
much  of  it ;  or  you  have  swallowed  the  draught  with  wonderful 
resignation." 

"  Alas  ! — have  I  not !"  and  he  shook  his  smooth,  sleek  locks 
mournfully,  from  side  to  side,  as  if  nobody  had  ever  known  such 
a  long  continued  case  of  heart  ache  as  his  own.  But  Flora  did 
not  laugh.  She  was  in  no  mood  for  it ;  and  though  the  frequent 
niaiseries  of  the  surgeon  might  have  provoked  her  unbounded 
merriment  at  another  time,  her  heart  was  too  full  of  her  owki 
doubts  and  difficulties  not  to  deprive  her,  most  effectually,  of 
any  such  disposition  now. 

The  next  day  she  was  somewhat  startled  at  the  sudden  arri- 
val of  a  man  at  the  barony,  whom  she  instantly  recognised  as 
the  person  meant  by  John  Bannister  when  he  spoke  to  her  the 
day  before.  His  frame  was  large  and  muscular,  like  that  of 
Bannister,  but  he  was  deficient  in  one  of  his  arms.  She  fancied, 
too,  that  he  watched  her  with  a  good  deal  of  interest,  as  he 
passed  her  on  the  staircase,  making  his  way  to  the  apartment  of 
the  invalid,  and  his  attendant,  Gray.  It  was  evident  that  Ban- 
nister had  some  intimate  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on 
among  her  inmates,  and  this  was  another  reason  why  her  own 
anxieties  should  increase,  as  she  remembered  the  warnings  to 
watchfulness  which  the  worthy  scout  had  given  her.  She  was 
well  disposed  to  confide  in  him.  Strange  to  say,  though  she 
knew  him  chiefly  as  the  friend  of  Clarence  Conway,  and  had 
every  present  reason  to  believe  in  the  faithlessness  and  unwor- 
thiness  of  the  latter,  her  confidence  in,  and  esteem  for,  John 
Bannister,  remained  entirely  unimpaired.  The  wonder  was  that 
Conway  should  have  so  entirely  secured  the  affections  of  such  a 
creature.  This  wonder  struck  Flora  Middleton,  but  she  had 
heard  of  such  instances,  and  it  does  not  seem  unnatural  that 
there  should  be  still  some  one,  or  more,  who,  in  the  general 
belief  in  our  unworthiness,  should  still  doubt  and  linger  on,  and 
love  to  the  very  last.  We  are  all  unwilling  to  be  disappointed 
in  our  friends,  not  because  they  are  so,  but  because  it  is  our 
judgment  which  has  made  them  so.  Bewildered,  and  with  a 
heavy  heart,  that  seemed  ominous  of  approaching  evil,  Flora 
retired  to  her  chamber  with  an  aching  head,  while  our  old  ac- 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   BLACK   RIDERS.  375 

quaintance,  Isaac  Muggs,  the  landlord,  was  kept  in  busy  consul- 
tation with  the  outlaw  and  his  confidant. 

We  pass  over  all  such  portions  of  the  conference  as  do  not 
promise  to  assist  us  in  our  narrative ;  and  the  reader  may  fancy 
for  himself  the  long  ejaculations,  which  the  landlord  uttered,  at 
finding  his  old  associate  and  captain  reduced  to  his  present  con- 
dition;—  ejaculations,  which  were  increased  in  length  and  lugu- 
briousness,  in  due  proportion  with  the  treachery  which  Muggs 
meditated,  and  of  which  he  had  already  been  guilty. 

"  Enough,  enough  of  your  sorrow,  good  Isaac,"  said  the  out- 
law with  some  impatience  :  "  these  regrets  and  sorrows  will  do 
for  a  time  when  we  have  more  leisure,  and  as  little  need  of  them. 
Give  me  good  news  in  as  few  words  as  possible.  Your  good 
wishes  I  can  readily  understand  without  your  speaking  them." 

Muggs  professed  his  readiness  to  answer,  and  Watson  Gray 
conducted  the  inquiry  ;  Morton,  assisting  only  at  moments,  when 
moved  by  a  particular  anxiety  upon  some  particular  point. 

"  Did  you  meet  Brydone  before  you  separated  from  Eawdon's 
army  ?" 

"  Yes  :  he  joined  us  at  Ninety-Six." 

"  He  told  you  the  plan." 

"Yes." 

"  You  are  willing  ?     You've  got  the  boats  ?" 

"  I  can  get  them." 

"  When — in  what  time  V 

"  Well,  in  four  days,  I  reckon,  if  need  be." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?" 

"  I  reckon,  I  may  say  so.     I'm  pretty  sartin." 

Here  Morton  turned  upon  the  couch,  and  half  raised  himself 
from  it. 

"  Look  you,  Muggs,  you  speak  with  only  half  a  heart.  You 
seem  scared  at  something.  What's  the  matter  with  you,  man  ? 
are  you  not  willing?" 

"  Yes,  cap'in,  I'm  willing  enough.  Why  shouldn't  I  be  wil- 
ling ?  I'll  do  all  that  you  ax  me." 

"  That  is,  you'll  get  the  boats  in  readiness,  here,  at  the  land- 
ing, Avithin  four  days ;  but,  are  you  willing  to  fly  yourself?  You 
are  not  fool  enough  to  fancy  that  the  rebels  will  let  you  remain 


376  THE   SCOUT. 

here  when  the  army's  gone,  to  enjoy  what  you've  despoiled 
them  of." 

"  No  great  deal,  cap'in,  I  reckon." 

"  Ay,  but  there  is  Muggs  !  You  cannot  deceive  me,  though 
you  may  the  rest.  I  know  your  gains,  and  a  word  of  mine 
would  send  them  flying  much  more  rapidly  than  they  were  ever 
brought  together.  Do  not  provoke  me,  man,  to  speak  that 
word," 

"  Well,  cap'in,  I  dont  want  to  provoke  you.  Don't  I  tell  you 
that  I'll  do  all  you  wish." 

"  Ay,  but  you  seem  d d  lukewarm  about  it,  Muggs ;  and 

you  have  not  said  whether  you  are  willing  to  join  our  fortunes 
or  not.  Now,  you  join  us,  heart  and  soul,  body  and  substance, 
one  and  all,  or  we  cut  loose  from  you  at  once.  You  are  in  our 
power,  Muggs,  and  we  can  destroy  you  at  a  moment's  warning. 
But  it's  neither  our  policy  nor  wish  to  do  so.  You  can  help  us 
materially,  and  we  are  willing  to  help  you  in  return.  Bounty 
lands  await  you  in  the  West  Indies.  You  will  live  with  old 
friends  and  neighbors,  and  with  your  guineas " 

"  Mighty  few  of  them,  I  reckon,  cap'in,"  said  Muggs. 

"  Few  or  many,  you  can  only  save  them  by  flight.  Are  you 
ready  1  Beware  how  you  answer !  Beware !  You  must  go 
with  us  entirely,  or  not  at  all." 

An  acute  observer  might  have  seen,  while  the  outlaw  was 
speaking,  an  expression  of  sullenness,  if  not  resistance,  in  the 
face  of  the  landlord,  which  did  not  argue  the  utmost  deference  for 
the  speaker,  and  seemed  to  threaten  an  outbreak  of  defiance.  But 
if  Muggs  felt  any  such  mood,  he  adopted  the  wiser  policy  of 
suppressing  it  for  the  present. 

"  'Swounds,  cap'in,"  he  exclaimed,  with  more  earnestness  than 
he  had  before  shown  in  the  interview — "  You  talk  as  if  you  was 
jub'ous  of  me, — as  if  I  worn't  your  best  friend  from  the  begin- 
ning. I'm  willing  to  go  with  you,  I'm  sure,  wherever  you  think 
it  safest ;  but  you're  mistaken  if  you  think  I've  got  so  much  to 
lose,  and  so  much  to  carry  away.  Mighty  little  it  would  be,  if 
tho  rebels  did  find  every  guinea  and  shilling  in  my  keeping." 

"  Pshaw,  Muggs,  you  cannot  blind  me  with  that  nonsense. 
Be  your  guineas  few  or  many,  it  is  enough  that  you  know  where 


THE   RETURN   OF  THE   BLACK   RIDERS.  377 

to  carry  them,  and  how  to  keep  them  in  safety.  And  now,  what 
of  Rawdon  ?  Where  did  you  leave  him  V 

"At  Ninety-Six." 

".He  had  beaten  Greene  ?" 

"  Run  him  off  from  the  siege  only." 

"  Well :  what  next.  Does  Rawdon  leave  a  garrison  at  Nine- 
ty-Six r 

"  I  reckon  not.  There  was  some  talk  that  he  means  to  sarve 
it  as  he  sarved  Camden.  Burn  the  town  and  tear  up  the  stock- 
ade." 

"  As  I  thought.  That's,  certainly,  his  proper  policy.  Well ! 
was  the  troop  still  with  Rawdon  V1 

"  No  :  they  were  gone  after  Conway,  somewhere  above  upon 
the  Ennoree." 

"  May  they  find  him,  and  batter  out  each  other's  brains  at  the 
meeting,"  was  the  pious  and  fraternal  wish  of  the  outlaw. 

"And  now,  Muggs,"  he  continued,  "the  sooner  you  take 
your  departure  the  better.  Get  your  boats  ready,  yourself  and 
guineas,  and  be  at  the  landing  here,  at  midnight,  four  days 
hence." 

"So  soon!"  said  Gray.  "  Do  you  think,  captain,  you'll  be 
able  by  that  time  ?" 

"Ay !  able  for  anything.  I  must  be  able.  This  flight  of 
Rawdon  will  render  mine  necessary,  with  as  little  delay  as 
possible." 

"  But  he  has  not  fled  yet  V1 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  A  retreat  in  his  condition,  is  only  another  word 
for  a  flight.  But  if  he  does  not  yet  fly,  he  will  have  to  do  so, 
before  very  long.  He  is  preparing  for  it  now,  and  I  have  for 
some  time  past  been  aware  of  the  approaching  necessity.  He 
must  not  descend  the  country  before  I  do,  that  is  certain  ;  and 
if  I  can  descend  the  Sante^pi  boats,  I  can  endure  a  wagon  the 
rest  of  the  way,  to  the  head  of  Cooper  river.  The  rest  is  easy. 
The  important  object  is  to  secure  faithful  boatmen ;  and  with 
you,  Muggs,  and  a  few  others,  upon  whom  I  can  rely,  I  have 
no  doubts,  and  no  apprehensions." 

The  landlord  was  dismissed  upon  his  secret  mission.  Watson 
Gray  conducted  him  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  where  lay  the 


378  THE  SCOUT. 

identical  boat  in  which  our  friend  John  Bannister  had  approached 
the  shore  in  seeking  the  interview  with  Flora  Middleton.  It 
was  huddled  up  in  the  green  sedge  and  bushes  at  the  edge  of 
the  river  swamp,  and  thus  concealed  from  the  eyes  of  the  pas- 
sing spectator.  Before  parting,  Gray  gave  his  final  instructions 
to  the  landlord,  in  which  he  contemplated  every  matter  essen- 
tial to  the  journey,  and,  perhaps,  conducted  the  affair  with  less 
offence  to  the  feelings  of  the  latter  than  had  been  the  case  on 
the  part  of  the  outlaw.  Scarcely  had  Watson  Gray  gone  from 
sight,  before  Bannister  emerged  from  the  swamp  thicket  and 
joined  the  other. 

"  He's  a  cute  chap,  that  same  Watson  Gray,  as  ever  beat 
about  a  thicket  without  getting  into  the  paws  of  a  black  bear  at 
rutting  season.  I'm  a  thinking  ef  the  man  was  decent  honest,  I'd 
sooner  have  him  in  a  troop  of  mine,  than  any  man  I  knows  on. 
He's  a  raal  keener  for  a  sarch.  I'd  reckon  now,  Isaac  Muggs, 
from  the  way  he  slobber'd  you  over  in  talking,  that  he  was  a 
meaning  to  swallow  you  when  all  was  done.  It's  the  way  with 
the  big  snakes,  when  the  mouthful  is  a  leetle  big  at  the  begin- 
ning." 

"I  reckon  that's  his  meaning,  Supple  Jack, — I'm  jub'ous 
that's  what  both  he  and  the  cap'in  are  a  conjuring." 

"  And  I  am  thinking,  Muggs,  that  he  was  a  trying  to  ease  off 
something  that  he  said  to  you  before,  which  went  agin  the  grain, 
and  made  the  teeth  grit." 

"  'Twan't  him  that  said  it  —  'twas  the  cap'in." 

"A  pair  on 'em — both  sarpents, — mou't-be,  different  kinds 
of  sarpent ;  but  the  bite  of  a  rattle  or  a  viper,  is,  after  all,  the 
bite  of  a  sarpent ;  and  it  don't  matter  much  which  a  man  dies 
of,  when  both  can  kill.  But  what  made  the  captain  graze  agin 
your  feelings  V1 

"  Why,  he's  a  trying  to  make  ^Pscare  of  me  about  staying 
here,  when  he's  gone.  He  says  there's  no  safety  for  me  among 
the  rebels." 

"  I  reckon,  Isaac  Muggs,  there's  an  easy  answer  for  all  that. 
You've  jest  got  to  p'intto  me,  and  say,  'That 'ere  man  convart- 
ed  me  by  strong  argyment,'  and  I  reckon  nobody'll  be  so  bold 
as  to  touch  you  after  that." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BLACK  RIDERS.*       379 

"  He  threatened  me  too  ;  —  and  I  to  be  the  first  to  advise  him 
to  make  long  tracks  from  the  troop  !" 

"  I'm  mighty  sorry  you  ever  gin  him  such  advice,  Isaac," 
said  Bannister,  rebukingly. 

"  Yes :  but  though  he  made  b'lieve  that  he  was  angry,  and  all 
that,  now,  to-night,  he  tells  me  how  he's  been  getting  ready  a 
long  time  for  a  start." 

"  I  b'lieve  him  !  Indeed,  I  knows  as  much  !  Well,  I'm  wil- 
ling that  he  should  get  away,  Isaac  Muggs,  without  any  hurt  to 
hair  or  hide.  For,  though  he  desarves  hanging  and  quartering 
as  much  as  ever  man  desarved  it,  yet  he's  come  of  the  same 
blood,  half  way,  with  Clarence  Conway ;  and  for  his  sake,  I'm 
willing  to  let  Ned  Conway  get  clear  of  the  hanging.  I  shouldn't 
be  so  mighty  anxious  to  help  him  out  of  the  way  of  a  bullet,  for 
that's  the  business  of  a  soldier,  to  die  by  shot  or  steel,  and  it 
don't  disgrace  him,  though  it's  hurtful  to  his  feelings.  I'd  help 
to  find  the  boat  for  him  myself,  and  send  him  on  his  way,  ef  he 
was  content  to  git  off  with  his  own  hide  in  safety.  But  when 
he's  after  his  villany  to  the  last — when  I  know  that  he  wants 
to  carry  off  another  Congaree  gal,  and,  this  time,  agin  her 
will " 

"  I'm  a-thinking,  Supple,  that  you're  clean  mistaken  in  that. 
Neither  him  nor  Gray  said  a  word  about  it." 

"  Not  to  you,  Isaac.  They'd  ha'  been  but  small  sodgers  if 
they  had.  No  !  no  !  They  know'd  that  twa'n't  the  way  to  get 
their  business  done,  to  make  it  more  difficult.  They  were  rather 
jub'ous  of  you,  you  say  yourself,  though  all  they  pretended  to 
want  of  you  was,  jest  to  carry  off  the  cap'in.  Would  it  ha' 
made  it  any  easier  to  tell  you  that  they  wanted  you  to  help  to 
carry  off  the  young  woman  from  her  friends  and  family ;  and,  as 
I'm  thinking,,  to  stop  also  in  their  way  down  and  clean  the  plan- 
tation of  his  father's  widow  of  all  it's  niggers  %  No  !  no  1  Isaac ! 
They  know  how  to  play  the  game  better  than  that.  They  tell 
you  they  play  for  high  and  low,  only ;  but  watch  them  well, 
and  they'll  make  their  Jack  too,  and  try  mighty  hard  to  count 
up  game  !  But,  the  game's  in  our  hands  now,  Isaac :  at  least, 
I'm  a-thinking  so.  As  for  you  and  your  guineas — I  don't  ax 
you  how  many  you've  got — but  jest  you  do  as  I  tell  you,  and 


380  THE   SCOUT. 

I'll  answer  for  their  safety.  We'll  get  tlie  boats  and  the  hands 
between  us,  and  we'll  have  'em  all  ready  when  the  time  comes, 
and  if  the  gal  is  to  be  whipped  off,  it  won't  make  it  less  pleasant 
to  us  to  have  the  handling  of  her.  Do  you  cross  the  river  now, 
and  be  sure  and  put  the  boat  high  up  in  the  creek.  I'll  keep 
on  this  side  a  leetle  longer.  I  have  a  leetle  matter  of  business 
here." 

"  You're  mighty  ventersome,  Supple." 

"  It's  a  sort  o'  natur',  Isaac.  I  always  was  so.  A  leetle 
dance  on  the  very  edge  of  the  dangerous  place,  is  a  sort  of 
strong  drink  to  me,  and  makes  my  blood  warm  and  agreeable. 
I'll  jest  scout  about  the  woods  here  and  see  who's  waking  and 
who's  sleeping ;  and  who's  a-tween  sleeping  and  waking  like 
myself." 

The  first  attentions  of  Jack  Bannister  were  paid  to  the  sleep- 
ing. He  watched  the  progress  of  his  comrade,  until  his  little 
barge  had  disappeared  from  sight  in  the  distance,  then  made  his 
way  with  the  intensity  of  a  natural  affection,  to  the  lonely  spot 
where  his  hands  had  dug  the  grave  for  Mary  Olarkson,  and 
where  her  body  had  been  laid.  Here  he  paused  a  few  moments 
in  silent  meditation,  then  proceeded  to  the  dense  thicket  to 
which,  on  the  night  when  she  fled  from  the  barony,  he  bore  her 
inanimate  person.* 

When  he  reached  the  spot,  he  kindled  his  light,  and  drew 
from  a  hollow  tree  a  hatchet  and  rude  saw  which  had  been 
formed  from  an  old  sabre,  the  teeth  of  which  had  been  made  by 
hacking  it  upon  some  harder  edge  than  its  own.  He  then  pro- 
duced from  another  place  of  concealment  sundry  pieces  of  tim- 
ber, upon  which  he  had  already  spent  some  labor,  and  to  which 
his  labor  was  again  addressed.  Gradually,  a  long,  slender,  and 
not  ungracefully  wrought  shaft  of  white  wood  appeared  beneath 
his  hands,  into  which  he  morticed  the  arms  of  a  cross,  with  a 
degree  of  neatness,  and  symmetry,  which  would  have  done  no 
discredit  to  the  toils  of  a  better  artist,  under  the  more  certain 
guidance  of  the  daylight.  This  little  memento,  he  was  evidently 
preparing,  in  silence  and  seclusion,  and  with  that  solemnity 
which  belongs  to  the  pure  and  earnest  affection,  for  the  lonely 
grave  which  he  had  just  visited.  With  a  fond  toil,  which  with- 


THE   RETURN   OF  THE   BLACK   RIDERS.  381 

held  no  care,  and  spared  no  effort,  he  now  proceeded — his  more 
heavy  task  being  finished — to  a  portion  of  his  work  which,  per- 
haps, was  the  most  fatiguing  of  all  the  labors  of  love  which  he 
had  imposed  upon  himself.  This  was  to  cut  into  the  wood  the 
simple  initials  of  the  poor  girl  for  whom  the  memorial  was  in- 
tended. Our  worthy  woodman  was  no  architect,  and  the  rude 

thic  letters  which  his  knife  dug  into  the  wood,  may  perhaps 

ve  awakened,  subsequently,  the  frequent  smile  of  the  irrev- 
erent traveller.  He  possibly  anticipated  the  criticisms  of  the 
forward  schoolboy,  as  he  murmured,  while  sweating  over  his 
rude  labors — 

"  It's  a  precious  small  chance  for  Taming  that  Jack  Bannister 
ever  got  upon  the  Congaree ;  but  it's  the  best  that  I  can  do  for 
poor  Mary,  and  I'd  ha'  been  willing  to  give  her  the  best  of  me 
from  the  beginning.  But  twa'n't  ordered  so  by  Providence,  and 
there's  no  use  for  further  talk  about,  it.  If  I  hadn't  used  a  man's 
we'pon  upon  her,  I'd  be  a-mighty  deal  more  easy  now,  but  God 
knows,  'twasn't  meant  for  her — 'twasn't  any  how  from  the  heart 
—  and  'twas  nateral  that  a  man  should  strike,  hard  and  quick, 
when  he  finds  another  jumping  out  upon  him  from  the  bush. 
Who'd  ha'  thought  to  find  a  gal  in  man's  clothes,  jest  then  too, 
in  the  thick  of  the  fighting  ?  But  the  Lord's  over  all,  and  he 
does  it  for  the  best.  That  sorrow's  done  with*,  or  ought  to  be 
done  with ;  and  the  sensible  person  ought  to  be  satisfied  to  look 
out  and  prepare  only  for  them  that's  yet  to  come.  This  board 
is  a  soli  of  line  between  them  old  times  and  the  coming  ones ; 
and  these  two  letters  shall  say  to  Jack  Bannister,  nothing  more 
than — 'Look  for'a'd,  Jack;  there's  no  use  in  looking  back!' 
Yet  everybody  can  make  'em  out,  though  they  may  read  quite 
another  lesson.  They'll  laugh,  may  be  at  such  printing.  It's 
bad  enough,  sartin;  but  it's  the  best  I  could  do.  There's  a 
mighty  ugly  lean  about  that  'M.,' jest  as  if  it  was  a  tumbling 
for'a'd  upon  the  '0.' — yet  I  thought  I  had  got  the  two  running 
pretty  even  together.  Well,  there's  no  helping  it  now.  It 
must  stand  till  the  time  comes  when  I  can  pay  the  stonecutter 
to  do  a  good  one." 

From  his  horn,  he  filled  with  powder  the  lines  which  he  had 
cut  in  the  wood,  and  then  ignited  it.  The  blackened  traces 


382  THE  SCOUT. 

made  the  simple  inscription  sufficiently  distinct,  and  the  good 
fellow,  shouldering  his  rude  monument,  bore  it  to  the  grave,  and 
drove  it  down  at  the  head  of  the  inmate. 

He  had  not  well  finished  this  work,  before  he  fancied  that  he 
heard  foreign  sounds  mingling  suddenly  with  the  murmurs  of 
the  Congaree,  as  it  plied  its  incessant  way  below.     He  listened, 
and   the   murmurs    deepened.     He   went   forward,   cautiousb|k 
through  the  wood,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  discerned  ti^ 
advance  of  a  body  of  men,  all  well  mounted,  whom,  upon  a 
nearer  approach,  he  discerned  to  be  the  Black  Riders. 

John  Bannister  was  not  a  man  to  be  alarmed  easily ;  but  he 
retreated,  and  stole  into  the  cover  of  a  bay,  the  thicket  of  which 
he  knew  was  not  penetrable  by  cavalry.  Here  he  crouched  in 
silence,  and  the  formidable  band  of  outlaws  slowly  wound  along 
in  silence,  through  the  forest,  and  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
thicket  in  which  he  lay  concealed. 

A  new  care  filled  his  bosom,  as  he  beheld  their  progress  in 
the  direction  of  the  barony.  He  had  no  means  of  contending 
with  such  a  force,  and  where  was  Clarence  Conway  ?  Feeling 
for  his  commander,  and  sympathizing  with  his  affections,  the 
first  thought  of  Bannister  had  reference  to  the  new  dangers 
which  beset  the  path  of  Flora  Middleton.  He  was  surprised, 
however,  to  perceive  that  the  banditti  came  to  a  halt  but  a  little 
distance  from  him.  They  alighted,  the  words  of  command  were 
passed  along  in  whispers,  and  in  ten  minutes  they  prepared  to 
bivouac. 


MESHES.  383 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

MESHES. 

"  WELL,  it's  mighty  strange,  I'm  thinking,  that  they  don't  go 
for'a'd.  They're  as  cautious  and  scary,  now,  as  ef  the  whole  of 
Sumter's  rigiment  was  at  the  Park.  They're  after  some  new 
mischief  that's  more  in  want  of  a  night  covering  than  any 
they've  ever  done  before.  Well,  we'll  see  !  There's  Watson 
Gray  with  his  corporal's  guard  at  the  house ;  and  here's  the 
Black  Eiders  here ;  and  if  the  two  git  together,  it's  precious 
little  that  John  Bannister  can  do,  with  the  help  of  Isaac  Muggs, 
and  he  with  one  hand  only.  Ef  I  could  work  poor  Jake  Clark- 
son  out  of  their  fingers,  he'd  make  a  third,  and  no  small  help 
he'd  give  us  in  a  straight  for'a'd,  up  and  down  fight.  But,  I'm 
jub'ous  he  stands  a  had  chance  in  the  grip  of  Watson  Gray. 
Ef  I  could  git  round  now  to  the  barony,  and  show  reason  to 
Miss  Flora  to  slip  off  to  the  river,  I  wouldn't  wait  for  Ned  Con- 
way  to  stir ;  but  I'd  hide  her  away  in  the  Congaree,  where  the 
swamp-fox  himself  couldn't  find  her.  But  then  there's  no  hope 
of  that.  There's  a  strange  way  of  thinking  among  young 
women  that's  never  had  the  blessing  of  a  husband,  as  ef  it 
wouldn't  be  so  decent  and  dilicate  to  trust  a  single  man  under 
such  sarcumstances ;  which  is  mighty  foolish  !  But  something 
must  be  done,  and  John  Bannister  must  be  in  the  way  of  doing 
it.  Lord  love  us! — ef  he  would  only  send  Clarence  now,  with 
fifty  of  his  troop,  among  these  bloody  black  refugees !" 

The  course  of  John  Bannister's  thoughts  may  be  traced  in 
the  above  soliloquy.  The  good  fellow  felt  the  difficulties  of  his 
own  position ;  though,  it  is  clear,  that  apprehension  for  himself 
was  the  last  subject  in  his  mind ;  the  only  one  which  awakened 
no  anxiety,  and  called  forth  little  consideration.  To  rescue 
Flora  Middleton  was  his  sole  object.  He  knew  the  desires  of 
Edward  Conway  for  that  maiden,  and  naturally  concluded  that 


384  THE  SCOUT. 

the  arrival  of  his  troop  would  give  him  the  power  to  accomplish 
his  wishes,*  ev^n  by  violence,  if  necessary.  It  was  therefore  a 
reasonable  occasion  for  surprise  and  conjecture,  when  he  found 
the  outlaws  taking  their  halt  and  supper  on  the  skirts  of  the 
barony,  and  in  profound  silence  and  secrecy .  That  they  should 
keep  aloof  from  their  captain,  when  nothing  lay  in  the  way  to 
prevent  or  retard  their  reunion  with  him,  was  naturally  calcula 
to  mystify  the  scout.  He  little  knew  the  character  and  exte 
of  those  malign  influences,  which  prevailed  among  that  wild  and 
savage  body,  unfavorable  to  their  ancient  leader. 

It  was  with  increasing  concern  and  interest  that  Bannister,  in 
following  and  watching  the  movements  of  the  outlaws,  found 
them  about  to  throw  a  line  of  sentinels  between  the  grounds  of 
the  barony  and  the  river  landing.  This  measure  denoted  certain 
suspicions  which  they  entertained,  as  he  fancied,  of  the  practices 
in  which  he  had  been  recently  engaged ;  and  it  became  neces- 
sary that  he  should  find  means  to  apprise  his  comrade,  Muggs, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Congaree,  of  the  danger  that  awaited 
any  undue  exposure  of  his  person  in  his  future  crossings  to  and  fro. 

"A  long  swim!"  muttered  the  faithful  scout,  with  a  slight 
shiver,  as  he  surveyed  the  river ;  "  and  rather  a  cold  swim,  too, 
at  midnight ;  but  I'll  have  to  do  it.  If  I  don't,  they'll  riddle 
poor  Isaac's  belly  with  bullets,  when  he's  thinking  of  nothing 
worse  to  put  in  it  than  his  breakfast.  But  I  must  dodge  about 
the  house  first  and  see  what's  a-going  on  in  that  quarter.  It 
seems  mighty  strange  that  they  shouldn't  have  made  themselves 
known  to  their  captain.  What's  to  be  afeard  of  ?  But  rogues 
is  always  a  myster'ous  and  jub'ous  sort  of  things.  A  rascal 
never  goes  straight  to  his  business.  If  he  has  to  shake  hands 
with  you  he  does  it  with  a  sort  of  twist,  and  a  twirl,  and  some- 
times a  squint,  that  looks  every  which  way  but  the  right  one. 
Now,  it's  reasonable  that  a  good  scout  should  shy  off,  and  dodge, 
and  make  himself  as  squat  and  small,  under  a  bush,  as  he  nater- 
ally  can,  and  as  a  big  body  will  let  him.  But  when  the  game's 
a  straight-for'a'd  one — when  there's  no  dangers  nor  no  inimy, 
and  only  one's  own  affairs  to  see  after — it's  a  sign  of  a  rogue 
all  over  that  he  shirks.  It  shows  that  he  shirks  from  the  love 
of  the  thing,  and  not  because  it's  a  needcessity." 


MESHES.  385 

John  Bannister  did  not  suffer  his  moral  philosophy  to  keep 
him  inactive.  He  was  one  of  those  who  philosophize  yet  go 
forward — a  race  of  which  the  world  has  comparatively  few.  In 
obedience  to  his  determination,  as  expressed  above,  he  stole 
through  the  ways  which  had  been  sufficiently  traversed  by  his 
feet  to  be  familiar,  which  led  him,  without  detection,  to  the 
grounds  immediately  about  the  mansion.  At  the  front  door  of 
the  dwelling,  which  was  closed,  he  saw  one  sentinel  on  duty. 
But  he  yawned,  emphatically  and  loud,  more  than  once  while 
the  scout  watched  him ;  and  by  his  listless  movements  seemed 
evidently  weary  enough  of  his  post  to  leave  it  to  itself  at  the 
first  seasonable  summons.  The  most  perfect  military  subordi- 
nation was  not  preserved  by  him  as  he  paced  to  and  fro  along 
the  court.  He  sang,  and  whistled,  and  soliloquized ;  and,  not 
unfrequently,  relieved  the  dull  measured  step  of  the  sentinel  by 
the  indulgence  of  such  a  gavotte  as  a  beef-eating  British  soldier 
of  the  "  prince's  own"  might  be  supposed  capable  of  displaying 
in  that  period  of  buckram  movement. 

"  He'd  hop  higher  and  dance  a  mighty  sight  better,"  mur- 
mured John  Bannister,  as  he  beheld  the  "  signior  of  the  night" 
in  this  grave  exercise,  "  ef  he  was  only  on  the  '  liberty'  side  of 
the  question.  He  gits  a  shilling  a  day,  and  a  full  belly ;  but  he 
ain't  got  the  light  heart  after  all.  Give  me  a  supper  of  acorns, 
b'iled  or  unb'iled,  in  the  Santee  swamp,  before  all  his  hot  bread  ; 
if  so  be,  the  cause  I'm  a-fighting  for  can't  give  me  a  better  heart 
to  dance  than  that.  Lord !  he  can  no  more  shake  a  leg  with 
the  C  on  gareq.  Blues  than  he  can  sight  a  rifle  !" 

Contenting  Tiimself  with  this  comparison,  and  the  brief  survey 
which  had  induced  it,  he  turned  away,  and,  traversing  the  set- 
tlement, came  to  the  out-house  in  which,  once  before,  he  had 
seen  the  guard  busy  in  their  gaming  practices.  A  light  glim- 
mering through  the  log  chinks  apprized  him  of  the  presence 
there  of  an  occupant ;  and,  approaching  cautiously,  and  peeping 
through  an  aperture  in  the  rear  of  the  mud  structure,  he  was 
struck  with  the  sight  of  an  object,  to  him,  of  very  painful  inte- 
rest. This  was  Jake  Clarkson,  very  securely  fastened  with 
ropes,  which  confined  both  his  hands  and  feet. 

The  old  man  leaned,  rather  than  sat,  against  the  wall  of  one 

17 


386  THE  SCOUT. 

section  of  the  building.  A  dull  composure,  which  seemed  that 
of  a  mortal  apathy,  overspread  the  poor  fellow's  countenance. 
His  eyes  were  half  closed,  his  mouth  drawn  down,  yet  open,  a.nd 
the  listlessness  of  death,  if  not  its  entire  unconsciousness,  pre- 
vailed in  the  expression  of  all  his  features. 

Four  of  the  British  soldiers  were  present  in  the  apartment ; 
two  of  them  stretched  at  length  upon  the  floor,  seemingly  asleep, 
and  the  other  two,  husy  to  themselves,  playing  languidly  at 
their  favorite  game,  which  they  relieved  by  a  dialogue  carried 
on  sufficiently  loud  to  enable  Bannister  to  learn  its  purport. 
From  this  he  gathered  enough  to  know  that  the  improvement 
of  Edward  Conway  was  such  as  to  promise  them  a  change,  for 
which  they  pined,  from  the  dull  monotonous  recurrence  of  the 
same  unexciting  duties,  to  the  adventures  of  the  march,  and  all 
those  circumstances  of  perpetual  transition,  which  compensate 
the  rover  for  all  the  privations  which  he  must  necessarily  un- 
dergo in  leaving  his  early  homestead. 

But  the  eyes  and  thoughts  of  Bannister  were  fixed  on  the 
prisoner  only.  The  pressure  of  surrounding  foes  only  made  him 
the  more  anxious  to  gather  together  and  secure  his  friends ;  and 
thinking  of  poor  Mary  was  also  calculated  to  make  him  eagerly 
desirous  to  recover  her  father.  This  desire  grew  more  keen  and 
irresistible  the  more  he  watched  and  reflected,  and  it  was  with 
some  difficulty  that  he  restrained  his  lips  from  the  impetuous 
assertion  of  his  determination  to  release  him  from  his  bonds  or 
perish.  This  resolve,  though  not  expressed  aloud,  was  still  the 
occasion  of  a  brief  soliloquy. 

"  Dang  my  buttons,  ef  I  don't  try  it !  If  there's  time  it  can 
be  done,  and  there's  no  harm  in  trying.  A  rifle  in  Jake's  hands 
is  a  something  that  acts  as  well  as  speaks ;  and  if  so  be,  we're 
to  have  trouble,  a  bullet  from  a  twisted  bore  is  a  mighty  good 
argyment  in  clearing  the  track  for  the  truth.  It's  a  sort  of  axe- 
stroke,  leading  the  way  for  the  grubbing-hoe." 

Ten  minutes  after,  and  Jake  Clarkson  was  roused  from  his 
stupor  by  the  slight  prick  of  a  sharp  instrument  from  behind 
him.  The  nervous  sensibility  of  the  old  man  had  been  pretty 
well  blunted  by  time,  trial,  and  misfortune ;  and  he  neither 
started  nor  showed  the  slighest  symptom  of  excitement.  But 


MESHES.  387 

his  eyes  grew  brighter,  his  mind  was  brought  back  to  the  world 
in  which  his  body  lingered  still,  and  a  lively  apprehension  was 
awakened  within  him,  lest  the  gambling  soldiers  should  see,  or 
hear,  the  hand  that  he  now  felt  was  busy  in  the  effort  to  extri- 
cate him  from  his  bonds.  He  did  not  dare  to  stir  or  look ;  but 
he  was  already  conscious  that  the  couteau  de  chasse  of  the  wood- 
man, fastened  to  a  long  stick,  had  been  thrust  through  the  crev- 
ices of  the  logs,  and  was  busily  plied  in  sawing  asunder  the 
cords  that  fastened  his  arms.  These  had  been  tied  behind  the 
prisoner,  and  he  prudently  kept  them  in  that  position,  even 
though,  in  a  few  moments  after,  he  felt  that  their  ligatures  had 
yielded  to  the  knife. 

The  workman  ceased  from  without.  His  task,  so  far  as  it 
could  be  effected  by  him,  seemed  to  be  ended ;  but  the  feet  of 
the  prisoner  were  still  secured.  The  friendly  assistant  seemed 
to  have  disappeared.  A  full  half  hour  elapsed  and  Jake  heard 
nothing.  The  soldiers  still  kept  at  their  game,  and  the  prisoner, 
exhausted  with  the  excitement  of  his  new  hope,  leaned  once 
more  against  the  wall. 

In  doing  so  he  again  felt  the  sharp  prick  of  the  knife-point. 
Cautiously,  but  with  nerves  that  trembled  for  the  first  time,  he 
availed  himself  of  one  of  his  freed  hands  to  possess  himself  of 
the  instrument;  which  now,  separated  from  the  handle,  had 
been  left  by  the  scout  for  the  farther  benefit  of  the  prisoner. 
He  clutched  it  with  strange  delight.  The  momentary  impulse 
almost  moved  him  to  spring  to  his  feet,  and  bound  upon  the 
guard  with  the  most  murderous  determination.  But  the  prudence 
of  his  friend's  course  from  without,  was  not  wasted  upon  him, 
and  he  contented  himself  with  quietly  securing  the  knife  behind 
him,  placing  his  hands  in  the  same  position  in  which  his  cords 
had  previously  secured  them,  and,  with  new  hopes  in  his  bosom, 
preparing  to  wait  the  proper  moment  when  he  might  safely  pro- 
ceed to  finish  the  work  of  his  emancipation. 

Satisfied  that  he  had  done  all  that  he  could,  at  this  time,  for 
the  rescue  of  Clarkson,  the  scout  took  his  way  back  to  the  river, 
the  banks  of  which  he  ascended  a  few  hundred  yards,  and  then, 
without  reluctance,  committed  himself  to  the  stream.  Half-way 
across,  the  rocks  afforded  him  a  momentary  resting-place,  from 


388  THE  SCOUT. 

which  he  surveyed,  with  a  mournful  satisfaction,  the  white  cross 
which  his  hands,  but  a  little  while  before,  had  reared  upon  the 
grave  of  Mary  Clarkson.  It  stood  conspicuous  in  sight  for  several 
miles  along  the  river. 

The  still  hours  of  the  night  were  speeding  on ;  and  the  mur- 
mur of  the  river  began  to  be  coupled  with  the  sudden  notes  of 
birds,  along  its  banks,  anticipating  the  approach  of  the  morning. 
A  sense  of  weariness  for  the  first  time  began  to  oppress  the 
limbs  of  the  woodman,  and  it  needed  a  strong  and  resolute  men- 
tal effort  to  prevent  him  from  yielding  to  sleep  upon  the  slippery 
black  rock  which  gave  him  a  temporary  resting-place  in  the 
bosom  of  the  stream.  Plunging  off  anew,  he  reached  the  op- 
posite banks,  fatigued  but  not  dispirited.  Here,  he  soon  trans- 
ferred the  duties  of  the  watch  to  his  comrade.  To  the  landlord 
he  briefly  communicated  the  events  of  the  evening,  and  bestowed 
upon  him  the  necessary  advice  for  caution. 

Meanwhile,  a  spirit  equally  anxious  and  busy,  pervaded  the 
breasts  of  some  few  in  the  encampment  of  the  Black  Eiders. 
The  watches  had  been  set,  the  guards  duly  placed,  and  the 
sentinels,  being  made  to  form  a  complete  cordon  around  the 
barony,  Lieutenant  Stockton,  acting  as  captain,  went  aside,  in 
consultation  with  his  apt  coadjutor,  Ensign  Darcy.  The  tone 
and  language  of  the  former  were  now  much  more  elevated, 
more  confident  and  exulting,  than  usual.  The  realization  of 
his  desires  was  at  hand.  He  had  met  the  approbation  of  Lord 
Rawdon,  in  the  conduct  which  he  had  displayed  in  the  manage- 
ment of  his  troop  during  the  late  march,  and  nothing  seemed 
wanting  to  his  wishes  but  that  his  immediate  superior  should  be 
no  longer  in  his  way.  To  supersede  him,  however,  was  not 
easy,  since  the  personal  grounds  of  hostility  which  Stockton  felt 
could  not  be  expressed  to  their  mutual  superior ;  and  these  were 
such  as  to  lead  the  former  to  desire  something  beyond  the  mere 
command  of  the  troop  which  he  had  in  charge. 

It  was  necessary  not  merely  to  degrade  but  to  destroy  his 
principal.  The  humiliating  secret  which  Edward  Morton  pos- 
sessed, to  his  detriment,  was  equally  an  occasion  for  his  hate 
and  fear ;  and  all  his  arts  had  been  exercised  to  find  some  pre- 
text for  putting  out  of  his  way  a  persoil  whose  continued  life 


MESHES.  389 

threatened  him  with  constant  and  humiliating  exposure.  Cir- 
cumstances had  co-operated  with  the  desires  of  the  conspirators. 
The  secret  of  Edward  Morton  had  been  betrayed.  It  was 
known  that  he  desired  to  escape  from  the  troop  ; — that  he  was 
planning  a  secret  flight  to  the  city  ; — that  he  had  already  sent 
off  considerable  treasure;  and,  that  he  awaited  nothing  but  a 
partial  recovery  of  his  strength,  and  the  arrival  of  certain  boats 
which  had  been  pledged  to  him  by  the  landlord,  Muggs,  to  put 
his  project  in  execution. 

In  thus  proceeding,  he  had  violated  the  laws  of  the  confede- 
racy— the  fearful  oath  which  bound  the  outlaws  together — 
an  oath  taken  in  blood;  and  the  violation  of  which  incurred  all 
the  penalties  of  blood.  No  wonder  that  Stockton  exulted.  His 
proceedings  were  now  all  legitimate.  His  hate  had  a  justifiable 
sanction,  according  to  the  tenets  of  his  victim,  equally  with  him- 
self. It  was  the  law  of  the  troop.  It  was  now  indeed  his  duty 
to  prosecute  to  the  death  the  traitor  who  would  surrender  all  of 
them  to  destruction;  and  the  only  remaining  security  left  to 
Morton  was  the  rigid  trial  to  which  his  band  was  sworn.  The 
bloody  doom  which  his  treachery  incurred,  was  to  be  inflicted 
only  after  the  fullest  proofs  that  it  was  justly  merited.  In  this 
lay  his  only  chance  of  safety,  and  this  chance  rested  upon  a 
slender  foundation.  One  of  his  special  and  most  trusted  agents 
had  been  bought-  over  by  the  machinations  of  Darcy,  and  had 
betrayed  him.  He  had  involved  another  of  the  band  in  his 
developments,  and  this  other  had  confessed.  Two  witnesses 
concurring  against  him  and  the  proof  was  held  to  be  conclusive; 
and  of  these  two  witnesses  Stockton  was  now  secure. 

But  other  considerations  were  involved  in  the  deliberations  of 
the  parties.  Edward  Morton  they  knew  to  be  a  desperate  man. 
Watson  Gray  was  a  man  to  be  feared  as  well  as  hated.  These 
were  in  possession  of  a  strong  brick  dwelling,  with  probably  a 
dozen  musketeers  under  arms,  and  commanded  by  Eawdon  to 
obey  them  in-every  particular. 

It  was  no  part  of  the  policy  of  Stockton,  to  come  to  blows 
under  such  circumstances.  Some  artifice  was  necessary  to  effect 
his  objects.  To  get  the  soldiers  out  of  the  way,  to  baffle  Gray, 
and  secure  possession  of  Edward  Morton,  was  the  design  which 


390  THE   SCOUT. 

they  had  resolved  upon,  and  this  required  considerable  manage- 
ment, and  excessive  caution  in  their  approach.  Besides,  one  of 
their  witnesses  was  absent  on  a  scout,  and  to  declare  their  pur- 
pose, until  he  was  present  to  maintain  it  by  his  oath,  would  have 
been  premature  and  imprudent.  It  was  also  their  object  to 
capture  the  landlord,  Muggs,  whose  proposed  agency  in  securing 
the  boats  for  the  flight  of  Edward  Morton  was  known  to  the 
conspirators  through  the  individual  who  had  first  betrayed  his 
employer  to  his  enemies.  Hence  the  watch  which  had  been  set 
upon  the  river-landing,  and  which  had  compelled  Bannister  to 
swim  the  stream  that  night. 

These  matters  formed  the  subjects  of  deliberation  between 
the  two  conspirators.  Their  successes,  so  far,  made  them  san- 
guine of  the  future ;  and  the  rich  rewards  which  it  promised 
them,  made  them  equally  joyful.  The  treasures  of  their  captain 
were  to  be  equally  divided  between  themselves,  and  we  find 
them  accordingly  quite  as  busjf  in  counting,  as  in  securing  their 
chickens. 

"  Pete  Flagg  has  charge  of  the  negroes,  over  two  hundred 
already,  and  there  are  those  from  the  place  of  his  stepmother, 
which  he  planned  to  take  off  with  him  in  these  boats  of  Muggs. 
I  know  where  to  go  for  his  guineas — ay,  to  lay  my  hands  upon 
the  vault ;  but  we  must  get  the  memorandum  acknowledgment 
which  I  reckon  he  has  about  him,  from  John  Wagner,  who 
keeps  his  money.  There  must  be  three  thousand  guineas  at  the 
least." 

"  We  share  equally,"  said  Stockton,  with  eager  eyes.  "  That 
of  course  is  understood." 

"  Yes  :  but  there  should  be  a  private  paper  between  us,"  said 
Darcy. 

"  What  need  ?  we  know  each  other." 

"Ay,  but  the  best  friends  can  not  be  too  cautious.  I  have 
drawn  out  a  little  memorandum  which  we  can  both  sign  to- 
morrow." 

"Agreed;  I'm  willing.  But  no  witnesses,  Darcy — that  would 
ruin  all." 

"Yes — that's  the  d — 1.     Let  the  troop  once  know  what  we 


MESHES.      -*  391 

count  upon — and  our  chance  would  be  as  bad,  or  even  worse 
than  his.  We  should  hang  with  him  !" 

"  Him  we  have  !  Him  we  have !  I  would  Brydone  were 
here.  I  long  for  the  moment  to  wind  up  our  long  account  of 
hate.  It  will  be  the  sweetest  moment  of  my  life  when  I  com- 
mand them  to  drag  him  to  the  tree." 

"Be  patient — don't  let  your  hate  risk  our  gains.  We  can 
get  nothing  by  working  rashly.  These  eight  or  ten  soldiers 
that  he  has  here  would  make  desperate  fight.  That  scoundrel, 
Gray,  must  have  suspected  us  when  he  asked  Rawdon  for 
them." 

"  Well,  well — he'll  have  his  turn  also." 

"  I  doubt  we'll  have  to  fix  him  along  with  the  captain.  He's 
a  bird  out  of  the  same  nest." 

"  I  shall  be  willing.     I  have  no  love  for  him." 

"  Did  you  tell  Brydone  when  to  meet  you  here  1" 

"  Yes  ! — that's  all  arranged  !" 

"  By  that  time  we  ought  to  have  possession  of  the  captain." 

"  Ay,  then  or  never.  We  must  have  him  and  all  things  in 
readiness  by  the  time  Brydone  comes.  Are  you  sure  of  the 
men  1  Is  there  none  doubtful  ?" 

"  None.  There's  a  few  milk-hearted  fellows  only,  but  they're 
of  the  scary  sort.  They'll  offer  no  opposition  when  they  find  so 
many  against  them." 

"  Be  sure  of  them,  also,  if  you  can.  I'd  even  give  something 
to  make  all  sure.  There  must  be  no  bungling  at  the  last  mo- 
ment. If  there  is,  and  he  has  any  chance  to  talk,  he  is  so  d — d 
artful  of  tongue,  that  he'd  work  courage  into  the  most  cowardly 
heart.  I  fear  him  still." 

"I  do  not.  I  know  tJiem,  and  I  know  him,11  replied  the 
subordinate.  "  His  day  is  done.  He  hasn't  the  same  power 
over  them  that  he  had  of  old,  and  the  late  profits  have  enlight- 
ened them  considerably  on  the  subject  of  your  better  manage- 
ment." 

"  Yes,  those  guineas  were  good  arguments,  I  think." 

"  Famous.  But  the  better  is  to  be  shown.  His  treachery  is 
the  best.  Let  them  but  know  conclusively  that  his  purpose  is 
to  give  them  up,  break  the  law,  and  leave  them — perhaps. 


392  THE  SCOUT 

-  betray  them  into  Sumters  clutches — and  there  will  be  but  one 
.  voice  among  them,  and  that  will  be,  'Death  to  the  traitor !'  " 

"  So  be  it.  To-morrow  night  we  have  him,  and  with  the  rise 
of  another  sun  he  dies." 

"  Yes,  if  Brydone  comes  in  time  for  the  trial." 

"  Brydone  or  not,  Darcy — he  dies." 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

BAGATELLE   BEFORE    BUSINESS. 

THIS  will  suffice  to  show  the  policy  of  the  confederates. 
Their  plans  of  treachery  were  nearly  complete,  and  they  were 
weaving  them  with  the  silent  industry  and  circumspection  of  the 
spider,  who  already  sees  and  has  chosen  his  victim. 

Little  did  Edward  Morton  fancy,  at  this  moment,  the  web 
that  environed  and  the  dangers  which  threatened  him.  He 
himself  was  busy  in  his  own  plans  of  similar  treachery.  His 
wounds  were  healing  fast,  his  strength  returning,  and  with  his 
strength  came  back  the  old  passions  of  evil  which  had  hereto- 
fore inflamed  his  heart  to  its  own  debasement.  The  mournful 
fate  of  the  poor  Mary  Clarkson  had  already  passed  from  his 
thought,  and  almost  from  his  memory ;  and,  if  remembered  at 
all,  it  was  only  in  connection  with  the  new  feeling  of  freedom 
which  he  felt  in  her  absence.  Her  death  he  now  regarded  as  a 
sort  of  Providential  interference,  by  which  he  was  relieved  of  a 
burden  at  the  auspicious  moment  when  it  must  have  become 
more  burdensome  than  ever. 

Circumstances  seemed  to  favor  him  on  every  hand ;  and  the 
influence  of  mind  upon  matter  was  never  more  favorably  shown 
than  in  the  improvement  of  his  health  and  strength,  under  the 
agreeable  sensations  which  he  experienced  from  a  review  of  all 
the  promising  results  which  seemed  to  await  only  his  recovery. 
In  a  few  days  his  bark,  richly  freighted,  was  to  bear  him  away 
to  a  region  of  security  and  peace,  in  which,  free  from  all  haras- 


BAGATELLE   BEFORE   BUSINESS.  893 

sing  dangers  which  had  so  long  attended  his  progress,  he  was 
to  enjoy  the  fruit  of  his  toils,  and  taste  the  luxuries  of  a  fresh 
and  long-desired  delight.  He  would  shake  himself  free  from 
his  old  connections — a  wish  long  since  entertained ;  he  would 
fly  with  the  woman  whom  he  loved,  from  the  foes  whom  he 
feared  and  hated — to  the  peace  for  which  he  had  yearned, 
and  to  that  affluence  which  a  mercerary  appetite  for  gain  had 
already  accumulated  in  abundance. 

No  wonder,  then,  that,  revelling  in  these  convictions,  he 
laughed  and  sang  at  intervals,  as  Watson  Gray  and  himself 
discussed  their  mutual  plans  and  glowing  expectations.  The 
skies  never  seemed  to  look  down  more  propitiously  bright  than 
upon  their  joint  wishes  and  performances;  and  even  Watson 
Gray,  habitually  stern  and  composed  in  his  bearing  and  de- 
meanor, condescended  to  join  in  his  principal's  merriment,  and  to 
minister  to  his  mirthful  mood,  by  a  relation  of  such  of  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  surgeon's  wooing  as  had  come  to  his  knowledge. 

We  have  seen  the  share  which  Gray  had  in  promoting  the 
objects  of  Hillhouse.  He  knew,  of  course,  that  Flora  Middle- 
ton  would  scorn  such  a  suitor.  He  had  already  beheld  the 
indifference — to  call  the  feeling  by  its  most  innocent  epithet — 
with  which  she  regarded  him ;  and  he,  as  well  as  the  outlaw, 
knew  enough  of  human,  or  rather  woman  nature,  to  be  sure  that 
the  result  of  his  application  would  be  at  once  amusing  and 
unsuccessful.  Gray  recounted,  for  the  benefit  of  his  superior, 
the  preparatory  toils  which  Hillhouse  had  undergone  at  his  toi- 
let— partly  in  his  presence — in  determining  upon  the  colors  of 
his  suit,  the  style  and  pattern  of  his  dress,  and  the  manner, 
audacious  or  subdued,  in  which  he  should  make  his  first  ap- 
proaches. In  choosing  his  costume,  he  seemed  disposed  to 
realise  the  pictorial  satire  with  which  the  ancient  artists  used  to 
describe  the  self-perplexity  of  the  Englishman  in  putting  on  his 
clothes :  — 

"I  am  an  Englishman,  and  naked  I  stand  here, 
Musing  in  my  mind  what  garment  I  shall  wear; 
Now  I  shall  wear  this,  and  now  I  shall  wear  that, 
And  now  I  shall  wear  —  I  can  not  tell  what." 

The  reader  is  aware  that  the  dove-colored  suit  was  triumph- 

17* 


394  THE  SCOUT. 

ant;  but  lie  does  not  so  well  know  the  peculiar  air  which 
marked  the  carriage  of  the  suitor.  Watson  Gray  had  seen  him 
depart,  and  had  beheld  him  on  his  return.  We  know,  that  by 
the  time  Hillhouse  got  back  to  the  house,  he  had  fairly  con- 
vinced himself  that  the  unqualified  rejection  of  Flora  Middleton 
had  been,  in  reality,  nothing  more  than  that  ordinary  mode  of 
evasion  among  the  sex,  of  the  uses  of  which  none  of  them  are 
wholly  ignorant,  and  with  which  they  simply  mean  to  heighten 
the  value  of  their  subsequent  concessions. 

Thus  assured,  his  countenance  wore  nothing  of  discomfiture 
in  its  expression.  Nay,  so  perfectly  triumphant  did  it  seem, 
that  Gray,  who  could  not  altogether  believe  that  the  world 
possessed  any  instance  of  such  thoroughly  self-blinding  vanity, 
.began  to  tremble  lest  Flora,  with  that  weakness  of  the  sex 
which  makes  them  miracles  of  caprice  upon  occasion,  had,  in 
her  unhappy  moments,  been  over-persuaded  and  had  yielded. 
Staggered  for  an  instant  by  this  apprehension,  he  was  left  but  a 
little  while  in  doubt.  When  Hillhouse  gave  the  tenor  of  her 
answer,  Gray  laughed  outright,  and  hurried  away  to  share  the 
pleasure  with  his  superior.  The  surgeon  followed  him  to  the 
chamber  of  the  outlaw,  as  soon  as  he  had  succeeded  in  adopting 
the  symbol  of  a  fitting  sentiment  for  the  new  change  which  he 
contemplated  in  his  garments ;  and,  without  intending  any  such 
favor,  he  delighted  the  invalid  byk  a  candid  revelation  of  the 
events  which  had  just  taken  place,  and  which  he  deemed  to  be 
so  favorable  to  his  desires. 

"May  you  always  be  so  fortunate!"  was  the  generous  wish 
of  the  outlaw,  as  the  surgeon  concluded  his  narrative. 

"  Thank  you.  You  are  too-  good.  I  doubt  not  I  shall  be. 
But,  in  truth,  is  it  not  wonderful  that  a  country  girl — a  mere 
rustic,  as  she  is — should  be  able  to  practise  those  arts  which 
belong  only  to  fashionable  life  ?" 

"An  instinct — an  instinct,  my  dear  sir." 

"  Well,  'pon  my  affections,  I  think  so." 

"They're  all  alike,  Mr.  Hillhouse — high  and  low,  rich  and 
poor,  city-bred  and  country-bred — they  all  know  how  to  baffle 
the  ardent,  and  stimulate  by  baffling." 

"  It  will  somewhat  reconcile  me  to  the  event,"  said  the  sur- 


BAGATELLE   BEPOEE  BUSINESS.  895 

geou.  "  I  had  my  apprehensions  about  the  poor  girl's  bearing 
in  good  society.  I  should  have  felt  the  awkwardness  of  bringing 
into  the  upper  circles  the  unsophisticated  damsel  of  the  woods, 
such  as  she  seemed  to  be  at  first ;  but  now " 

"The  instinct  of  the  sex  will  usually  supply  the  want  of 
training — it  will  save  you  every  annoyance  ;  but,  even  were  it 
otherwise,  Mr.  Hillhouse,  how  charming  would  it  have  been  to 
have  shown  her  in  the  fine  world  as  the  beautiful  savage  from 
the  Congaree !" 

"  Gad,  yes  !     I  never  thought  of  that." 

*•  An  aboriginal  princess." 

"  Like  Powkerhorontas  !  Ay,  I  have  heard  of  that  princess. 
She  was  a  Virginian  princess.  My  old  friend,  Sir  Marmaduke 
Mincing,  told  me  all  her  history — how  she  had  fought  her 
father,  and  rescued  the  captain — what  was  his  name? — But  no 
matter — It  was  something  very  low  and  vulgar.  She  married 
him ;  and  Sir  Marmaduke,  who  had  seen  her,  said  she  had 
really  a  very  human  countenance,  and  was  quite  like  a  woman ; 
but" — lifting  his  hands  in  horror — "her  feet1?  They  were 
monstrous.  They  were  four  feet,  rather  than  two.  .  Ha,  ha ! 
four  feet !  Do  you  take  me  with  you,  Captain  Conway  1  Four 
feet  rather  than  two  !" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  roared  Gray;  and  Conway  also  echoed  the 
laughter  of  the  surgeon,  but  it  was  rather  at  himself  than  his  wit. 

"  But  the  feet  of  your  princess  here,  Miss  Middleton,  are  really 
very  good,  and  rather  small  feet,  Mr.  Hillhouse.  They  will 
occasion  no  fright !" 

"  Ah,  true,  quite  respectable  as  feet — quite  respectable  !  She 
will  do ;  and  your  idea,  sir,  that  she  would  be  so  distingue,  ap- 
pearing in  the  character  of  la  belle  sauvage,  reconciles  all  objec- 
tions wonderfully.  I  think  much  better  of  the  young  creature 
than  before.  I  do,  really." 

"No  doubt  you  should;  but  Mr.  Hillhouse — not  to  interrupt 
the  pleasantness  of  your  dreams — let  me  remark  that  war  and 
love  do  not  enjoy  the  same  camping  ground  long,  as  they  do  not 
often  employ  the  same  weapons.  The  one  is  very  apt  to  scare 
away  the  other.  You,  sir,  have  little  time  to  lose.  Are  you 
aware  that  Lord  Rawdon  is  in  full  retreat  ]" 


396  THE  SCOUT. 

'Retreat — from  what?" 

"  The  enemy — the  rebels.  He  has  been  compelled  to  evacu- 
ate Ninety-Six." 

"  Evacuate  !  what  an  unpleasant  word  !" 

"  You'll  find  it  so,  unless  you  proceed  in  your  attack  with  in- 
creased vigor.  You  will  soon  be  compelled  to  evacuate  Brier 
Park,  leaving  la  belle  sauvage  to  the  care  of  other  savages  not 
so  beautiful,  and  possibly  something  more  dangerous." 

"  You  discompose  my  nerves,  Captain  Conway.  May  I  learn 
if  all  this  be  true — be  certain?" 

"  Too  true  :  ask  Mr.  Gray.  He  brings  me  the  intelligence. 
He  has  just  received  it." 

"  Sure  as  a  gun,"  said  Gray. 

"  And  with  quite  as  startling  a  report,"  continued  the  outlaw. 
"  What  you  do  will  need  to  be  done  quickly.  You  must  press 
the  siege." 

"  Night  and  day,"  added  Watson  Gray. 

"  You  can't  stop  for  regular  approaches,"  continued  Morton. 
"  Remember  you  have  nothing  but  field-works  to  contend 
with " 

"  And,  for "  added,  the  surgeon,  nibbing  his  hands  with  a 

gentle  eagerness. 

"  Sap  and  storm  at  the  same  moment,  Mr.  Hillhouse.  You 
must  go  through  and  over  the  works  both ;  or  expect  to  raise 
the  siege  very  shortly.  I  doubt  if  you  have  three  days  left  you. 
Lord  Rawdon  will  be  on  his  way  for  the  Eutaw  before  that 
time." 

"  My  dear  friend !  you  rejoice  while  you  alarm  me.  I  will 
not  suffer  any  delay.  But  haste  is  so  vulgar." 

"  Except  in  flight." 

"  Ah  !  even  there ;  one  can  not  dispose  his  garments  well,  and 
the  face  is  flushed,  and  the  manner  is  flurried.  But  there  are 
cases  of  necessity " 

"  Imperative  necessity !" 

"  Yes ;  when  we  have  to  dispense  with  ordinary  rules  of  con- 
duct." 

"  All  active  movements  are  of  this  sort,  whether  they  contem- 
plate flight  or  assault.  Your  affair  combines  both.  You  must 


BAGATELLE  BEFORE  BUSINESS.  397 

make  your  attack  shortly,  for  your  retreat  must  soon  follow  that 
of  his  lordship." 

"  True,  most  true  !" 

"  And  how  honorable  is  it  to  carry  off  a  prisoner  even  in 
flight!" 

"  It  softens  the  necessity — it  takes  the  shame  from  defeat." 

"  It  redeems  it,"  said  the  outlaw ;  "  and  such  a  prisoner,  too  ! 
Ah  !  Mr.  Hillhouse,  you  are  certainly  a  man  to  he  envied." 

"  My  dear  captain,  you  do  most  certainly  flatter  me.  But  I 
was  born  under  a  fortunate  star.  I  have  been  thus  fortunate 
always,  and  particularly  among  the  sex.  Remind  me  to  relate 
to  you  some  curious  successes  which  I  have  had.  But  not  now. 
I  must  leave  you  now.  Forgive  me  that  I  am  thus  abrupt.  But 
I  go  in  obedience  to  your  counsel.  I  go  to  prepare  for  the  war. 
By  the  way,  those  metaphors  of  yours  were  well  carried  on.  I 
shall  endeavor  to  recall  them  at  the  first  leisure ;  those,  in  which 
you  spoke  of  the  prosecution  of  my  present  purpose,  by  sap  and 
storm,  and  so  forth.  I  suspect,  captain,  that  you,  too,  have  been 
rather  a  fortunate  person,  in  your  own  experience,  among  the 
women.  But,  your  field  has  not  been  a  difficult  one.  Women 
are  very  accessible  in  America,  though  I  certainly  do  not  agree 
with  my  old  friend,  but  present  enemy,  the  Marquis  de  Chas- 
tellux,*  who  says  that  a  Frenchman  may  do  anything  with  the 
women  of  your  country." 

"Does  he  say  that1? — the  scoundrel !"  exclaimed  the  outlaw, 
with  a  burst  of  provincial  indignation. 

"  Now,"  continued  the  surgeon,  "  had  he  said  Englishman  for 
Frenchman,  there  would  have  been  some  reason  in  it ;  though 
it  isn't  every  Englishman,  either,  of  whom  such  a  thing  might 
be  said." 

The  outlaw  and  his  comrade  both  looked  serious.  The  reply 
of  the  former  was  made  with  some  effort  at  composure,  and  the 
"wreathed  smile"  upon  his  lips  was  the  result  of  some  struggle 
with  his  sterner  passions. 

"  No,  sir ;  the  instances  are  not  frequent,  I  suspect.     But  the 

*  For  what  the  Marquis  does  say,  see  his  "  Travels  in  North  America,"  New 
York  edition,  p.  260.  The  sample  of  complaisance  is  very  French  and  amu- 
sing. 


398  THE  SCOUT. 

opinion  may  naturally  be  entertained  in  its  full  extent  by  one 
who  lias  been,  and  is  destined  to  be,  so  uniformly  successful 
everywhere." 

"  Thank  you,  captain — you  are  too  flattering.  But  I  confess 
—  I  have  had  my  successes — I  have,  Heaven  knows!" — with 
an  air  of  profound  humility,  as  he  bowed  himself  out  of  the 
apartment. — "  Heaven  knows,  I  have  had  successes  which  might 
well  turn  the  heads  of  wiser  men  than  myself." 

"The  ape! — the  monstrous  ape!"  exclaimed  Morton,  "was 
there  ever  such  an  ape  !" 

"  A  long-eared  ass  !"  muttered  his  more  rude  companion ;  "  a 
long-eared  ass,  if  ever  there  was  one  !  If  Miss  Flora  don't  pull 
his  ears,  it  won't  be  because  she  don't  see  'em." 

"  No !  It's  devilish  strange  that  such  a  fellow  should  pre- 
serve his  follies  amidst  all  his  changes,  and  while  pursuing  a  life 
which,  more  than  any  other,  would  be  likely  to  lop  off  the  affec- 
tations and  conceits  of  boyhood." 

"  Well,  I  reckon,"  said  Gray,  "  he's  just  like  a  great  many 
others,  who  knoAV  they  can't  pass  for  wise  men,  and  are  deter- 
mined to  pass  anyhow.  A  fool  would  rather  you'd  see  him  as  a 
fool  than  not  see  him  at  all." 

"  Egad  !"  exclaimed  Morton,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  new 
idea,  "  Egad !  I  think  I'll  see  this  fellow  at  his  follies.  I'll 
make  an  effort,  Gray,  to  get  down  stairs  this  very  afternoon." 

"  Don't  think  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Gray. 

"  Ay,  but  I  will !  I  feel  strong  enough  for  it,  and  a  change 
of  objects  will  do  me  good.  I  long  to  feast  my  eyes,  also,  upon 
the  charms  of  the  fair  Flora.  Zounds !  had  it  been  Clarence 
Conway,  who  lay  sick  and  wounded  in  her  dwelling,  what  a  dif- 
ference !  She'd  have  deigned  him  a  glance  before  this  !  She'd 
have  sat  beside  his  bed,  and  her  hand  would  have  been  in  his, 
and  she  would  have  played  with  his  hair,  and  her  long  locks 
would  have  floated  upon  his  cheek  !  Damnation  !  that  fortune 
should  thus  smile  upon  one,  and  blast  the  other  always !  Thus 
has  it  been  from  our  cradle.  By  heavens,  Gray,  I  tell  you,  that 
man — boy  and  man — ay,  when  he  was  but  a  brat  of  an  infant 
— a  squeaking,  squalling,  unconscious  brat  of  an  infant — this 
jilting  Jezebel,  called  Fortune,  showered  her  gold  and  jewels 


BAGATELLE   BEFORE   BUSINESS.  399 

about  him  even  then,  and  has  citing  to  him  ever  since,  with  a 
constancy  hardly'  ever  known  to  any  of  her  sex.  All  around 
seemed  to  toil  in  his  behalf,  'everything  tended  to  his  benefit : 
ay,  even  when  I  toiled  in  his  despite,  I  have  been  compelled  to 
curse  the  vain  labor  which  redounded  only  to  his  good  !  and  I — " 
"You've  had  your  good  fortune,  too,  captain!"  said  Gray, 
condolingly. 

"  Have  I !"  cried  the  other,  dashing  the  mirror,  upon  which  he 
had  looked  at  that  moment,  into  fragments  at  his  feet ;  "  have  I, 
indeed  ?  I  must  read  it  in  these  gashes,  then  !  I  must  feel  it 
in  this  feebleness;  in  these  wounds  which  fetter  my  activity 
now,  when  safety,  life,  success,  eyery thing,  depends  upon  my 
strength  and  freedom  !  No,  no  !  Gray  ;  my  good  fortune  is  yet 
to  come !" 

"  Don't  distrust  Fortune,  captain.  I'm  thinking  she's  been 
your  friend  quite  as  much  as  his.  She's  helped  him  in  some 
things,  perhaps  ;  but  how  is  he  any  the  better  for  them  ]  As 
for  Miss  Flora  doing  for  him  what  she  wouldn't  do  for  you,  that's 
all  in  my  eye.  I  reckon  that  she  looks  on  him  now  a  little 
blacker  than  she  ever  looked,  or  ever  will  look,  on  you.  Well, 
what  next  ]  After  all  his  fortunate  gettings,  where  is  he  1  And 
after  all  your  misfortunes,  where  are  you  ]  Why,  he's  just  on 
the  brink  of  losing  everything,  and  you  are  just  that  nigh  to 
getting  all  that  he  loses,  and  perhaps  a  great  deal  more." 

"Would  it  were  now! — would  I  were  sure.  But,  Gray,  I 
have  my  fears,  my  doubts.  Past  experience  teaches  me  that 
good  fortune  is  never  more  doubtful,  than  when  "it  wears  the 
sweetest  and  most  promising  countenance.  We  have  to  depend 
upon  others.  That  is  always  the  great  drawback  to  a  man's 
chances.  Should  that  fellow,  Muggs,  now  fail  us  with  his 
boats." 

"  Don't  you  fear.     He  will  not  fail." 
"And  Flora !     God  !  could  I  be  sure  of  that !" 
"And  what's  to  hinder?     The  one  answers  for  the  other." 
"Ay,  not  much  to  hinder,  if  we  use  violence.     Main  force 
may  carry  her  off,  and  shall,  unless  she  yields  readily ;  but  I 
tell  you,  Gray,  I'd  give  half  that  I'm  worth — half  of  all  my 
spoils — but  to  be  spared  this  one  necessity." 


400  THE   SCOUT. 

"What,  captain,  you're  not  getting  mealy-mouthed  in  the 
business.  Your  conscience  ain't  troubling  you,  sure  ?" 

"  No  !  It's  not  that  I  have  any  scruples ;  but  I  would  enjoy 
the  blessing  of  a  willing  prize,  Gray !  That,  that  is  every- 
thing!" 

"  Lord  knows,"  rejoined  the  other  with  a  yawn,  "  you  had  a 
willing  prize  enough  in  Mary  Clarkson." 

"  Speak  not  of  her,  Gray,"  said  the  other  in  half-faltering 
accents — "  not  now  !  not  now !" 

"  She  was  a  willing  prize,  and  one  you  were  willing  enough 
to  get  rid  of.  Give  me  the  prize  that  don't  consent  in  a  hurry 
— that  gives  me  some  trouble  to  overcome.  I  wouldn't  give  a 
shilling  for  a  wagon-load  of  that  fruit  that  drops  into  the  mouth 
the  moment  it  opens  for  it." 

"Nor  I.  Nor  is  that  what  I  mean,  Gray;  I  mean  only  that 
I  should  like  to  forbear  absolute  violence.  I  do  not  object  to 
the  opposition  or  the  difficulty,  if  I  could  win,  by  my  own  wit, 
wisdom,  attractions — win  through  her  sympathies,  and  not  by 
strife.  And  I  must  still  try  for  this.  I  will  see  Flora  this 
very  evening.  I  will  get  down  to  the  supper-table.  I  am 
strong  enough  for  it ;  and  I  will  see  for  myself  how  she  manages 
this  silly  witling.  The  truth  is,  Gray,  I'm  not  altogether  satis- 
fied that  she  will  feel  that  scorn  for  the  fellow  that  we  feel. 
We  judge  of  a  man  according  to  his  own  manliness ;  but  this  is 
not  the  mode  of  judging  among  women.  They  look  at  the 
streamers  of  the  ship,  and  her  gaudy  paint ;  while  men  look  to 
see  if  her  timbers  are  good ;  if  she  follows  the  helm,  if  she  is 
taut,  and  trim,  and  steady  upon  the  wave.  I  believe  that  where 
it  depends  upon  a  woman's  heart — where  her  affections  are 
firmly  enlisted — she  will  be  true  to  the  death,  and  in  spite  of 
death  ;  but,  when  the  matter  is  referable  only  to  the  judgment, 
I  lose  all  confidence  in  her.  She  is  then  to  be  watched  nar- 
rowly, and  guided  cautiously,  and  kept  from  the  breakers, 
among  which  she  otherwise  would  be  sure  to  run.  Now,  Flora 
Middleton  is  a  woman  whose  mind  will  take  a  large  share  in  her 
affections.  She'll  hardly  suffer  her  feelings  to  get  entirely  be- 
yond the  control  of  her  judgment ;  and  it  may  be  advisable 
that  I  should  assist,  at  her  next  conference  with  this  gudgeon,  in 


BAGATELLE  BEFORE   BUSINESS.  401 

order  to  help  him  somewhat  in  the  exposure  of  his  more  ridicu- 
lous qualities." 

"  It  don't  need,  captain.  I  reckon  she's  seen  'em  all  for  her- 
self, long  before  this.  You'd  better  not  go  down.  Better  keep 
all  your  strength  for  the  time  when  you'll  need  it  all." 

"What!  man!  Do  you  think  I  could  fail  then?  Impos- 
sible !  No  !  no  !  Gray.  You're  getting  quite  too  timid  to  be  a 
safe  counsellor,  and  I'm  resolved  to  have  a  glance  at  Flora 
Middleton  this  evening,  though  I  die  for  it.  I  think  the  sight 
of  her  will  give  me  new  strength  and  spirit.  Besides,  man,  it  is 
time  that  I  should  try  my  experiment  upon  her.  If  you  are 
right — if  she  believes  that  Clarence  Conway  has  been  doing 
those  evil  deeds  which  I  need  not  acknowledge,  and  has  dismissed 
him  for  ever  from  her  regards — then  this  is  the  very  time  to 
urge  my  claims  and  be  successful.  Personally,  there  is  very 

little  difference  to  the  eye  between  us ;  unless  these  d d 

scars  !  Ha !  didn't  you  let  her  know  that  they  were  got  fight- 
ing with  Clarence  in  defence  of  injured  innocence,  and  all  that ! 
If  so,  they  will  not  seem  so  very  uncomely.  There  is  yet  an- 
other circumstance,  Gray :  I  flatter  myself  that  the  contrast 
between  myself  and  her  present  suitor,  the  surgeon,  even  in  his 
dove-colored  breeches,  will  hardly  be  against  me.  Is  not  that 
something — are  not  all  these  things  something  ?  If  I  can  per- 
suade her,  we  diminish  some  of  our  labor,  and  several  of  our 
difficulties  ;  and  that  must  be  tried  fast.  I  must  play  the  lover 
as  well  as  I  can,  before  I  play  the  conqueror.  I  must  woo  my 
bride,  before  I  resort  to  the  last  mode  of  winning  her." 

"  You'd  better  keep  your  bed  two  days  longer." 

'*  Pshaw !  get  me  some  proper  clothes.  I  wish  I  had  the 
pick  of  the  surgeon's  wardrobe,  for,  of  a  truth,  Gray,  I  have 
but  little  choice  of  my  own.  I  suspect  my  small  clothes  are  of 
all  colors,  with  the  blood  and  dust  of  that  last  brush ;  but,  no 
matter  about  the  stains  here  and  there ;  if  you  can  only  get  me 
tolerably  trim.  I  should  rather  be  as  unlike  my  popinjay  rival 
as  possible,  on  such  an  occasion." 

The  outlaw  kept  his  resolution,  in  spite  of  all  the  exhortations 
of  his  comrade ;  and  that  evening,  surprised  the  family,  and  the 
surgeon,  Hillhouse,  not  the  least,  by  Ms  sudden  entry  into  the 
salle  d  manger. 


402  THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

A   VISION. 

EDWARD  MORTON,  could  he  have  always  kept  his  blood  in 
abeyance,  would  have  made  a  first-rate  politician.  He  had 
superior  cunning,  but  he  had,  at  the  same  time,  too  much  ear- 
nestness. He  yielded  himself  quite  too  much  up  to  his  subject. 
He  could  not  tamper  and  trifle  with  it.  His  impetuosity  de- 
feated his  caution ;  and,  in  every  respect  in  which  he  failed, 
he  could  reproach  himself  only  as  the  true  cause  of  his  failure. 
The  stuff  which  he  had  expressed  in  conversation  with  Watson 
Gray,  about  the  influence  of  fortune,  did  not  deceive  himself. 
He  knew  better,  whenever  he  permitted  himself  to  think  grave- 
ly, and  speak  honestly ;  but  men  get  into  a  habit  of  deceiving 
themselves  while  seeking  to  deceive  others ;  and  fortune  has 
always  been  compelled  to  bear  the  whining  reproaches  of  man- 
kind whenever  their  own  wits  go  a-blundering.  Pride  makes 
them  unwilling  to  admit  the  fault  to  be  in  themselves,  and  for- 
tune is  a  good-natured  damsel,  who  seldom  resents  the  imputa- 
tions cast  upon  her.  They  clamor  accordingly,  and  without 
fear,  at  her  expense ;  and  grow  familiar  with  the  language  of 
unprofitable  and  unintended  declamation.  It  scarcely  needs  that 
we  should  remark  how  unfrequently  they  make  acknowledg- 
ments of  her  bounty.  When  successful,  it  is  their  own  excellent 
art,  audacious  courage,  admirable  skill,  and  manly  accomplish- 
ment, that  achieve  the  conquest ;  and  the  smile  which  denotes 
their  satisfaction  with  all  the  world,  betrays  first  the  gratifying 
conviction  that  they  themselves  are  good  against  all  the  world. 

Edward  Morton  was  by  no  means  ignorant  of  his  own  defect 
of  character.  He  knew  his  impetuosity  of  blood,  and  he  feared 
it.  It  was  necessary  to  guard  particularly  against  that,  in  all 
his  intercourse  with  Flora  Middleton.  Of  this  he  had  previous 
experience.  He  knew  her  acuteness  of  intellect.  The  very 


A   VISION.  403 

simplicity  of  her  own  character,  and  the  directness  and  almost 
masculine  frankness  of  her  temper,  made  it  somewhat  difficult 
to  elude  her  analysis.  Besides,  she  already  suspected  him. 
This  he  knew.  He  had  every  reason  to  suppose,  in  addition, 
that  the  late  close  intercourse  hetween  herself  and  Clarence 
Conway,  however  brief,  had  enabled  the  latter  to  afford  her 
some  information  of  the  true  state  of  their  mutual  feelings  and 
interests. 

But,  in  due  proportion  with  the  small  amount  of  knowledge 
which  he  possessed,  was  the  reasonable  apprehension  which  he 
entertained  of  the  extent  of  what  she  knew.  She  might  know 
much  or  little.  He  had  every  reason  to  fancy  that  she  knew 
all ;  and  his  chief  hope  lay  in  the  fruitful  falsehoods  which  his 
wily  coadjutor  had  taken  occasion  to  plant  within  her  mind.  If 
these  falsehoods  had  taken  root — if  they  flourished — perhaps 
the  difficulty  would  not  be  great  to  make  her  doubt  all  the  as- 
sertions of  his  brother. 

"  If  she  believes  him  this  villain — well !  She  will  believe 
more.  She  will  believe  that  he  has  slandered  me — nothing  can 
be  more  natural — and  if  one  task  be  well  performed,  it  will  not 
be  hard  to  effect  the  other.  But  I  must  be  wary.  She  is  as 
keen-eyed  as  a  hungry  eagle — looks  far  and  deep.  One  hasty 
W0rd. — one  incautious  look — and  her  sharp  wit  detects  the  error, 
and  all  must  be  begun  anew.  I  must  be  cool  now,  or  never. 
With  everything  at  stake,  I  must  school  my  blood  into  subjec- 
tion, if,  indeed,  I  have  not  already  lost  enough  to  make  the 
pains-taking  unnecessary." 

Such  were  his  thoughts,  and  such  the  hopes,  upon  which  he 
founded  his  new  purposes  of  deception.  The  surprise  of  all  par- 
ties was  great,  and  openly  expressed,  as  he  suddenly  entered 
the  supper-room.  But  the  outlaw  saw  with  pleasure  that  the 
surprise  of  the  ladies  did  not  seem  coupled  with  any  coldness  or 
dissatisfaction.  It  has  not  been  necessary  for  us  to  say,  before, 
that  Mrs.  Middleton  had  visited  the  invalid  in  his  chamber.  She 
had  done  all  the  duties  of  hospitality  and  humanity.  He  had 
accordingly  no  cause  of  complaint.  He  could  have  no  reason  to 
expect  the  like  attendance  from  the  young  lady  ;  and  the  gentle 
courtesy  of  the  latter  would  have  convinced  one  even  more  sus- 


404  THE  SCOUT. 

picious  than  Morton,  that  she  had  no  hostile  feeling  whatsoever 
at  work  against  him. 

The  inquiries  of  both  were  kind  and  considerate.  He  was 
requested  to  occupy  the  sofa  entirely,  and  to  place  himself  at 
ease  upon  it ;  a  permission  which  had  the  effect  of  transferring 
the  reluctant  person  of  the  surgeon  to  a  contiguous  chair.  The 
deportment  of  this  person  had  been  productive  of  far  more  sur- 
prise to  the  ladies,  than  the  appearance  of  the  outlaw.  Flora 
Middleton  had  informed  her  grandmother  of  the  suit  which  she 
had  rejected ;  and  it  was,  therefore,  greatly  to  the  wonder  of  the 
one,  and  the  consternation  of  the  other,  that  they  were  com- 
pelled to  witness,  in  his  deportment,  the  language  of  confident 
assurance;  —  of  a  success  and  exultation,  in  tone  and  manner, 
as  unequivocal  as  ever  betrayed  themselves  in  the  action  of  a 
triumphant  lover.  His  smirkings  were  not  to  be  mistaken ;  and 
the  old  lady  looked  to  the  young  one,  and  the  young  one  re- 
turned the  glance  with  equal  vexation  and  bewilderment. 

The  arrival  of  Morton  had  the  effect  of  bringing  some  relief 
'  to  the  females  of  the  party,  and  possibly  to  diminish,  in  some 
degree,  the  impertinent  self-complaisance  of  the  surgeon.  For 
this,  the  ladies  were  grateful  to  the  outlaw ;  and  hence,  perhaps, 
the  greater  benignity  of  the  reception  which  they  bestowed  upon 
the  latter.  But  still  there  was  quite  enough  of  pleased  impu- 
dence manifest  in  the  visage  of  Hillhouse,  even  after  the  com- 
ing of  Morton ;  and  when  the  first  courtesies  which  followed  his 
entrance  were  fairly  ended,  he  took  occasion  to  say  something 
on  the  subject  to  this  happy  person. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Hillhouse,  I  am  surprised  at  the  unusual  degree 
of  happiness  which  your  countenance  exhibits  this  evening. 
What  is  it  makes  you  so  peculiarly  happy.  Have  you  good 
news  from  the  army  ?  Is  his  lordship  about  to  relieve  you.  Do 
you  think  of  Charleston  and  the  next  Meschianza  ?" 

The  surgeon  simpered,  smiled  anew,  and  looked  with  most 
provoking  emprcssement  at  Flora  Middleton.  Before  he  could 
frame  the  intricate  and  exquisite  reply  which  he  was  meditating, 
that  young  lady  availed  herself  of  the  occasion,  to  prove,  as  Avell 
she  might,  that  she  was  no  willing  party  to  the  peculiar  happi- 
ness which  his  countenance  expressed. 


A   VISION.  405 

"I  thank  you  for  that  question,  Mr.  Conway — I  was  about 
to  make  the  same  inquiry ;  for,  really,  I  never  saw  a  gentleman 
put  on  so  suddenly  the  appearance  of  so  much  joy.  I  fancied 
that  Mr.  Hillhouse  must  have  had  a  fairy  gift,  as,  you  know, 
happens  to  us  all  in  childhood;  and  then  again,  I  doubted,  for 
there  are  reasons  against  such  a  notion.  But,  in  truth,  I  knew 
not  what  to  think,  unless  it  be  that  it  is  surely  no  earthly  joy 
which  has  produced,  or  could  produce,  so  complete  an  expres- 
sion of  delight  in  the  human  face.  I  declare,  Mr.  Hillhouse,  I 
should  be  glad  for  mamma's  sake — if  for  the  sake  of  no  one 
else — that  you  would  let  us  know  what  it  is  that  makes  you  so 
supremely  happy.  There's  nothing  pleases  old  people  so  much, 
you  know,  as  the  innocent  pleasures  of  young  ones." 

"  Ah,  Miss  Flora,  do  you  then  ask  ]  It  is,  indeed,  no  earthly 
joy  which  has  made  me  happy." 

"  You  are  then  really  happy  ?"  said  Conway. 

"  Really,  and  in  truth,  I  may  say  so.     A  dream " 

"  What !  and  is  it  a  dream  only  1  Well,  I  thought  as  much," 
exclaimed  Flora. 

"  Nay,  Miss  Middleton,  life  itself,  for  that  matter,  is  a  sort  of 
dream.  But,  in  ordinary  speech,  mine  is  not  a  dream.  I  have 
had  a  vision " 

"A  vision!"  exclaimed  Conway. 

"A  vision,  sir  !"  said  the  old  lady,  putting  on  her  spectacles, 
and  looking  around  the  room. 

"  A  vision !  Do  you  see  it  now,  Mr.  Hillhouse  ?  Where  ? 
What  was  it  like  ?"  The  demand  of  Flora  was  made  with  all 
the  girlish  eagerness  of  one  who  really  believed  in  the  prophetic 
faculty  of  the  present  seer. 

"Yes,  what  was  it  like,  Mr.  Hillhouse  ]"  asked  the  outlaw,  "  I 
am  very  curious  to  hear !  a  vision !" 

"Like!"  exclaimed  the  surgeon,  "like!  like  an  opening  of 
heaven  upon  me.  A  sudden  revelation  of  delight,  a  cloud  of 
glory  ;  and  the  shape  within  was  that  of — a  woman  !" 

"  Dear  me  !  —  only  a  woman  !"  exclaimed  Morton,  affectedly. 

"  Only  a  woman,  sir !"  cried  the  surgeon,  with  an  air  of  pro- 
foundest  gallantry ;  "  and  what  lovelier  object  can  one  see  in 
this  visible  creation — upon  the  earth  or  in  the  sky " 


406  THE   SCOUT. 

"  Or  the  -waters  under  the  earth." 

"  Nay,  I'm  not  so  deep  in  the  world,  Mr.  Conway,"  said  the 
surgeon ;  "  but  when  you  ejaculate  in  wonder,  sir,  because  my 
vision  of  unspeakable  delight  takes  the  shape  of  a  young  and 
beautiful  woman -" 

"What's  the  color  of  her  eyes — and  hair,  Mr.  Hillhouse  ?" 
was  the  interruption  of  Conway.  "  Give  us  now  a  just  descrip- 
tion, that  we  may  judge  for  ourselves  what  sort  of  taste  you 
have  in  matters  of  beauty." 

Hillhouse  looked  to  Flora  Middleton  with  an  expression 
which  said,  as  plainly  as  a  look  could  say  —  "Behold  with  me ! 
The  vision  is  again  before  us  !" 

Flora  Middleton  rose  from  her  chair.  She  seemed  to  antici- 
pate the  words ;  and  the  scorn  and  vexation  which  overspread 
her  features,  became  evident  to  all  persons  in  the  room,  except, 
perhaps,  the  single  obtuse  individual  who  had  provoked  them. 
She  was  about  to  leave  the  apartment,  when  the  sudden  and 
hurried  words  of  Edward  Morton  arrested  her,  with  a  new  occa- 
sion of  wonder,  more  legitimate  than  that  which  the  surgeon 
entertained. 

"  By  heavens,  Mr.  Hillhouse,  I  too  have  a  vision,  and  one  far 
less  lovely,  I  think,  than  yours.  Pray,  look  to  that  door,  if  you 
please.  There  was  a  strange  visage  at  it  but  a  moment  ago. 
Look !  look  ! — a  man,  not  a  woman ;  and  one  not  from  heaven, 
I  should  think,  though  it  may  be " 

Before  the  surgeon  could  reach  the  door,  or  Morton  could  fin- 
ish the  sentence,  a  dark  figure  entered  the  room,  confronted  the 
party,  and  taking  from  his  face  a  black  mask,  "with  which  it  was 
covered  displayed  to  the  anxious  gaze  of  the  outlaw  his  own  late 
lieutenant,  and  always  bitter  enemy,  Captain  Stockton.  The 
latter  had  heard  what  Morton  said,  and  concluded  his  speech, 
perhaps,  in  the  most  fitting  manner. 

"  From  hell,  you  would  say,  would  you !  and  you  are  right, 
sir.  I  came  from  hell,  and  I  am  come  for  you.  You  are  pre- 
pared for  travel,  I  trust !" 

The  behavior  of  Morton  was  equally  fearless  and  dignified. 
He  had  a  game  to  play  in  the  eyes  of  Flora,  and  a  difficult  part 
to  act  in  more  eyes  than  hers.  His  agitation  had  not  been'  con- 


A    VISION.  407 

cealed,  at  the  first  sudden  exhibition  which  Stockton  had  made 
of  his  hostile  visage  at  the  entrance ;  but,  when  the  person  of 
the  intruder  was  no  longer  doubtful,  his  firmness  came  back  to 
him ;  and  no  person,  on  the  verge  of  the  precipice,  could  have 
looked  down  with  more  indifference  than  he,  upon  its  awful 
abysses.  He  raised  himself  with  composure  from  the  sofa,  and 
directing  the  eyes  of  Stockton  to  the  ladies,  calmly  remarked — 

"  Whatever  you  may  be,  and  whatever  your  purpose,  as  a 
man,  remember  where  you  are,  and  be  civil  to  the  ladies." 

He  was  answered  by  a  grin,  and  yell  of  mingled  exultation 
and  malice. 

"Ay  !  ay  !  I  will  remember.  Don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  for- 
get them,  or  yourself,  or  even  that  pink-looking  gentleman  in 
the  corner,  who  smells  so  sweetly,  and  looks  so  frightened.  Ha  ! 
ha !  Did  you  ever  know  the  devil  to  forget  any  of  his  flock. 
Ladies,  you  know  me,  or  you  should.  You  will  know  me  soon 
enough.  I  am  old  Nick,  himself,  you  may  be  sure  of  that, 
though  I  go  by  several  names.  My  most  innocent  one  is  per- 
haps the  most  familiar  to  you.  I  am  the  captain  of  the  Black 
Riders.  Do  you  deny  that  ?"  he  demanded,  at  the  close,  turning 
full  upon  Edward  Morton. 

It  did  not  need  that  the  latter  should  answer  this  inquiry,  for 
the  alarm  which  this  bold  annunciation  produced,  prevented  his 
words  from  being  heard  by  any  ears  but  those  of  the  intruder. 

"You  may  be  the  devil  himself,  for  anything  I  know  or 
care." 

"  Indeed  !  you  are  bold.  But  we  shall  see.  You  will  find  me 
a  worse  person  to  deal  with,  perhaps.  You  are  my  prisoner : 
remember  that." 

"  I  know  not  that !"  exclaimed  Morton,  rising  with  evident 
pain  from  the  sofa,  upon  which  he  had  sunk  but  a  minute  before, 
and  looking  the  defiance  which  he  had  no  means  to  enforce. 
His  attitude  was,  however,  threatening ;  and  drawing  a  pistol 
from  his  belt,  the  intruding  outlaw  levelled  it  full  at  the  head  of 
his  superior.  The  eye  of  Morton  did  not  shrink.  His  gaze 
was  undaunted.  Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  was  discomposed.  At 
that  instant  Watson  Gray  suddenly  entered  the  apartment, 
strode  between  them,  and  confronted  Stockton  with  a  weapon 


408  THE  SCOUT. 

like  his  own.  At  the  same  time  he  thrust  another  into  the 
hands  of  Morton. 

"  There  are  two  to  play  at  this  game,  Stockton,"  was  the  cool 
remark  of  Gray.  "  Ladies,  leave  the  room,  if  you  please.  We 
need  no  witnesses :  and  you,  sir,  unless  you  can  kill  as  well  as 
cure,  you  may  as  well  follow  the  ladies." 

This  was  addressed  to  the  surgeon. 

"  I  have  no  weapon,"  was  his  answer. 

"  Pshaw  !  look  to  the  fireplace.  A  brave  man  never  wants  a 
weapon." 

Hillhouse  possessed  himself  of  the  poker  with  sufficient  reso- 
lution ;  but  he  evidently  looked  with  great  dissatisfaction  upon 
the  prospect  before  him,  of  soiling  his  dove-colored  suit  in  an 
unexpected  melee.  Meanwhile  the  ladies  had  disappeared,  and 
the  only  social  influence  which  might  have  prevented  bloodshed 
was  necessarily  removed  in  their  departure. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

A   PARLEY. 

"WHAT  does  all  this  mean,  Stockton  1"  demanded  Gray. 

"  What  you  see.  The  meaning's  plain  enough,  Watson  Gray," 
was  the  insolent  reply. 

"  Ay,  I  see  well  enough  that  you  are  disposed  to  murder  your 
superior;  but  on  what  pretence?  How  will  you  answer  to 
Lord  Rawdon  for  this  insubordination — this  mutiny  ?  for  it  is  no 
less.  Captain  Morton  has  the  commission  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton. 
He  is  your  commander." 

"  Yes,  but  he  is  the  property  of  the  troop,  also." 

"Well,  what  then — suppose  we  allow  that?' 

"  That  is  enough.     He  is  a  traitor  to  them." 

"Ha! — a  traitor!" 

"Yes  !  a  base,  dishonest  traitor." 

"  How  ?  in  what  way  is  he  a  traitor  ?" 


A   PARLEY.  409 

"  He  is  sworn  to  be  true  to  them." 

"  Well — if  to  be  mangled  in  their  battles  is  to  be  trne  to 
them,  he  certainly  has  been  true  a  long  time." 

"Mangled  in  their  battles !"  quoth  the  other,  with  a  sneer. 
"  Mangled  in  his  own.  Had  he  been  fighting  their  battles,  with 
less  regard  to  his  own,  he  would  have  escaped  his  mangling. 
*  Tell  that  to  the  marines.'  We  know  better.  We  know  that 
he  is  a  traitor  to  his  comrades.  He  has  sold  them  for  a  price, 
and  has  abandoned  them  to  their  enemies.  His  life  is  forfeit  by 
his  own  laws." 

"  This  is  a  mere  fetch,  Stockton.  There  is  no  ground  for 
such  pretence.  You  are  the  enemy  of  Captain  Morton.  We 
all  know  that  of  old.  You  are  contriving  it  against  him  to 
destroy  him.  Beware  !  You  know  me  quite  as  well  as  I  know 
you.  I  tell  you,  that  if  you  go  one  inch  on  either  hand  from 
the  right,  yourjjlck  stretches  on  the  gallows  in  the  sight  of  all 
Charleston!" 

"  Pshaw !  Watson  Gray.  You  don't  hope  to  frighten  me  at 
this  time  of  day  with  your  big  words.  I  know  what  I'm  about. 
Captain  Morton  is  a  traitor  to  the  troop,  and  we'll  prove  it.  He 
is  false  to  his  oath,  and  will  be  made  to  answer  all  its  penalties." 

"  That's  well  enough ;  but  what  gives  you  the  right,  till  the 
thing's  proved,  to  lift  pistol  to  his  head  V 

"  The  thing's  proved  already." 

"  What !  without  a  trial  V 

"  We've  two  witnesses  against  him." 

"  Where  are  they  1  We'll  hear  them — not  you.  You  are  a 
little  too  fast." 

"  You  shall  hear  them  both.  You  shall  hear  me  too.  I  am 
now  the  captain  of  the  troop.  They  have  made  me  so  by  their 
free  voices.  He  is  nothing,  now,  but  one  of  us — a  common 
soldier,  under  suspicion,  and  waiting  for  his  sentence." 

"  Look  you,  Stockton  :  I'm  better  used  to  acting  than  talking. 
I  know  you  of  old,  and  I  see  you're  bent  to  kill  your  captain, 
whether  or  no.  You're  hungering  to  step  into  his  shoes :  but 
the  moment  you  pull  trigger  on  him,  that  moment  I  pull  trigger 
on  you.  There's  two  to  one.  Take  your  chance  now  for  life  ; 
for  I'm  getting  angry." 

18 


410  THE   SCOlfT. 

"  Two  to  one,  indeed !  Look  at  the  windows,  man,  and  you'll 
see  twenty  to  one,"  was  the  triumphant  response  of  Stockton. 

Gray  looked  as  he  was  bidden,  so  did  the  surgeon  Hillhouse, 
but  Morton  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  those  of  his  lieutenant. 

"  Well,  do  you  see  ?  are  you  satisfied  ?  There  is  no  chance 
for  you,"  said  the  latter. 

"I  see  only  what  I  expected  to  see,"  was  the  answer  of 
Gray.  "  I  did  not  look  to  see  you  venture  here  without  good 
backing.  I  knew  you  too  well  for  that.  These  twenty  men 
are  enough  to  eat  us  up.  But,  before  you  can  gNet  help  from 
them,  we'll  make  mince-meat  of  you.  You  are  a  fool  if  you 
think  otherwise." 

Stockton  looked  upon  his  destined  victim  with  equal  rage  and 
disappointment. 

"  What !  you  refuse,  then,  to  surrender  him  to  me  1" 

"  We  do."  $ 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  what  we  can  do  with  a  few  more  pistols," 
replied  the  ruffian,  and  with  these  words  he  prepared  to  leave 
the  room.  But  Gray  placed  himself  between  him  and  the 
entrance. 

"Stay,"  said  he — "not  so  fast.  You've  got  into  the  cane- 
brake  with  the  bear.  You  must  ask  permission  when  you  want 
to  leave  it." 

"  What !  do  you  mean  to  keep  me  V9 

"  Yes ;  you  shall  be  a  hostage  for  the  rest.  We  must  have 
terms  between  us,  Richard  Stockton,  before  we  let  you  off." 

"  What  terms  ?"  demanded  the  other,  angrily. 

"  Where's  our  guard  I" 

"  Fastened  up  in  the  loghouse,  where  they're  all  drunk." 

"They  must  be  released ;  and  you  must  answer  to  Lord  Raw- 
don  for  making  his  soldiers  drunk  and  incapable,  while  on  duty 
at  a  British  military  post." 

«•  Who  says  I  made  them  drunk?" 

"  I  say  so." 

"  You  can  not  prove  it." 

"  You  shall  see.  If  I  can  prove  that  one  of  your  troopers 
did  it,  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  show  that  you  did  not 
employ  that  trooper  in  doing  it." 


A    PARLEY.  411 

"  Watson  Gray,  I  will  have  satisfaction  out  of  you  for  this." 

"All  in  good  time,  Stockton.  You  don't  suppose  that  I'm 
likely  to  dodge  from  a  difficulty  with  you  or  any  man  ?  But  it's 
useless  for  you  to  ride  your  high  horse  across  my  path.  By  the 
Eternal,  man,  I'll  tilt  you  into  the  ditch  in  the  twinkle  of  a 
mosquito  !" 

"  You  talk  boldly ;  but  let  me  tell  you  that  you're  not  alto- 
gether safe  from  this  charge  against  Morton.  You're  suspected 
of  treason  to  the  troop,  as  well  as  he." 

"Tsha,  tsha,  tsha!  Catch  old  birds  with  chaff!  Look  you, 
Stockton :  don't  you  suppose  you  can  carry  this  matter  as  you 
please,  either  by  scare  or  shot.  We're  up  to  you  any  how. 
Now,  look  you :  if  you  think  that  either  Captain  Morton  or 
myself  wants  to  escape  from  trial,  you're  mistaken.  But  we'll 
have  a  fair  trial,  or  none  at  all." 

"  Well,  won't  we  give  him  a  fair  trial  ]" 

"  No  :  not  if  you  begin  it  with  the  pistol." 

"  I  only  want  to  make  him  a  prisoner." 

"  Well,  you  sha'n't  have  your  wishes  in  that — not  while  I 
can  stand  ready  with  such  a  muzzle  as  this  close  upon  yours. 
Now,  hear  me.  Give  orders  to  Ensign  Darcy,  whose  little  eyes 
I  see  dancing  at  that  glass  there,  and  who's  at  the  bottom  of  all 
your  mischief — give  him  orders  to  let  our  men  loose  from  the 
loghouse,  and  send  them  here  ;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  let  him 
draw  his  own  men  off  from  the  house.  When  that's  done,  we'll 
come  to  terms  about  the  trial." 

"  Agreed,"  said  the  other,  and  he  made  a  new  movement  as 
if  to  take  his  departure,  but  the  wily  Gray  was  still,  on  the 
alert. 

"  No  !  no  ! — my  good  fellow  ! — You  must  stay  as  a  hostage, 
lieutenant,  'till  the  matter's  all  arranged.  You  can  speak  to 
Darcy  from  where  you  stand — through  the  pane  as  well  as  if 
your  arm  was  round  his  neck." 

The  vexation  of  Stockton  may  be  imagined.  He  strove  vain- 
ly to  suppress  it.  He  was  compelled  to  submit.  Darcy  was 
summoned,  and  would  have  entered,  with  his  men  following,  but 
Watson  Gray's  prompt  accents  warned  him,  that,  if  he  came 
not  alone,  he  would  bring  down  on  the  head  of  his  confederate 


412  SHE  SCOUT. 

the  bullets  of  himself  and  Morton.  Sharing  the  chagrin  of  his 
superior,  Darcy,  accordingly,  made  his  appearance  alone,  and 
received  his  instructions. 

When  he  had  drawn  off  his  followers,  and  disappeared  him- 
self, Gray  persuaded  Morton  to  retire  to  his  chamber  with  the 
assistance  of  the  surgeon.  This  measure  had,  perhaps,  become 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  former.  The  efforts  which  he  had 
made  to  sustain  himself,  as  well  in  the  interview  with  the  ladies, 
as  in  that  unexpected  one  which  followed  it; — and  the  excite- 
ment which  the  latter  necessarily  occasioned,  had  nearly  ex- 
hausted him.  Nothing  but  the  moral  stimulus  derived  from  his 
mind — its  hate,  scorn,  defiance — sustained  him  so  far  from  faint- 
ing on  the  spot ;  and  this  support  did  not  maintain  him  much 
longer.  He  did  faint  when  he  reached  his  own  apartment. 

"  And  now,  Stockton,"  said  Gray,  when  they  were  alone  to- 
gether—  "what's  all  this  d — d  nonsense  stuff  about  Captain 
Morton's  treachery  and  mine  ?  Out  with  it,  man,  that  we  may 
know  the  game." 

"  No  nonsense  stuff,  I  assure  you.  The  proof  is  strong 
enough  against  him,  and  brushes  your  skirts  also." 

"  Proof  indeed.  You  see,  I  don't  stop  to  let  you  know,  lieu- 
tenant, that  I  look  upon  you  as  a  man  that  will  contrive,  wher- 
ever you  can,  against  the  captain.  I  know  that  you  hate  him 
— you  can't  deny  it, — though  it's  the  strangest  thing  to  me  why 
you  should  hate  a  man  who  has  never  given  you  any  cause  for 
hate,  and  has  always  treated  you  well  and  kindly." 

"Indeed!  Do  you  really  think  so!"  exclaimed  the  other 
bitterly.  "  Well,  I  shall  understand,  that,  to  knock  a  man  over 
with  the  butt  of  your  pistol,  and  send  him  afterward  under 
guard  to  prison,  with  a  recommendation  for  the  halbirds,  is  a 
way  to  treat  well  and  kindly." 

"  Pshaw  !     Is  that  all  V9 

"  All !  ay,  and  enough  too  !" 

"  My  good  fellow,  you  ought  to  be  grateful  that  he  didn't  set 
you  a  swinging  from  the  first  tree.  I  heard  of  that  affair,  and 
was  sorry  for  it ;  but  you  deserved  all  you  got,  and  something 
more.  He  might  have  hung  you  without  trial,  or  shot  you  down 
where  you  stood.  You  were  in  absolute  mutiny." 


A   PARLEY.  413 

"  We'll  say  no  more  about  that,  Watson  Gray.  He's  had  his. 
chance,  and  I'll  have  mine.  So  far  from  it's  being  nonsense 
stuff  which  is  against  him,  the  proof  of  his  treachery  is  clear  as 
noonday." 

"  Well,  prove  it,  and  he  must  stand  his  fate.  All  he  asks, 
and  all  that  I  ask,  is  a  fair  trial.  But  what  is  the  sort  of  treach- 
ery that  he's  been  doing  ?" 

"  Making  arrangements  to  fly  and  leave  the  troop  in  the  lurch. 
Getting  boats  to  carry  off  the  plate  and  negroes  from  Middleton 
barony  and  other  places,  without  letting  the  troop  come  to  a 
share.  You  can't  deny  that's  death  by  our  laws — rope  and 
bullet!" 

"  Granted  :  but,  again,  I  ask  you,  where's  the  proof?" 

"Brydone! — Ha!  you  start,  do  you?  You  didn't  expect 
that  ?" 

"  Start ! — a  man  may  well  start  at  hearing  of  such  a  false- 
hood from  the  lips  of  a  fellow  like  Brydone,  who  was  always 
counted  one  of  the  truest  fellows  we  ever  had." 

"  Yes ;  you  didn't  think  he'd  desert  you,  eh  ?" 

"Desert! — Look  you,  Stockton,  I  don't  believe  that  Bry- 
done ever  said  such  a  word.  Did  you  hear  him  yourself?" 

"Yes— I  did." 

"  Where  is  he  ?     Bring  him  before  me." 

"  Time  enough.  He's  not  here  with  us  at  present.  But  he'll 
be  here  sooner  than  you  wish." 

"  Ah  !" — and  the  scout  paused,  while  his  brow  gathered  into 
deep,  dark  folds  which  indicated  the  pressure  of  accumulating 
thoughts.  He  suddenly  recovered  his  composure,  and  turning, 
with  a  quiet  smile  upon  his  more  blunt  companion,  he  pro- 
ceeded :  — 

"  Stockton,  I  see  your  game.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  am 
now  convinced  that  you  have  no  such  proof,  and  that  Brydone 
never  told  you  anything  hurtful  to  the  captain.  If  so,  didn't 
you  know  that  he  was  to  have  a  fair  trial? — Why  didn't  you 
bring  your  only  witness  ?  and  did  not  you  also  know,  that,  by 
the  laws,  no  one  could  be  found  guilty  but  by  two  witnesses  ? 
Now,  you  only  speak  of  one " 

"  Ay,  ay  !  but  there's  another,  Watson  Gray.    Don't  suppose 


414  THE   SCOUT. 

I  got  so  far  ahead  of  commen  sense  in  this  business  as  to  stum- 
ble in  that  matter.  No  !  no  !  I  hate  Ned  Morton  too  much — 
too  thoroughly  and  bitterly — to  leave  my  desire  for  revenge  to 
a  doubtful  chance.  The  whole  matter  was  cut  and  dry  before 
we  came  down  from  *  Ninety-Six/  We  have  two  witnesses  of 
his  guilt." 

"  Well,  who's  the  other  ?"  asked  Gray  with  seeming  indiffer- 
ence. 

"  Isaac  Muggs !" 

"  What  Isaac,  the  one-armed  !  But  you  don't  call  him  a  man, 
surely — he's  only  part  of  a  man !" 

"  You  don't  mean  to  stand  for  such  an  argument  as  that  ?" 
demanded  Stockton  gravely. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  responded  the  other  with  a  laugh.  "  Let  him  go 
for  what  he's  worth.  But " — here  his  indifference  of  man- 
ner seemed  to  increase,  as,  yawning,  he  inquired — 

"  But  when  are  these  witnesses  to  be  here  1  When  may  we 
confront  them  ?" 

"  Sooner  than  you  wish,"  was  the  reply.  "  We  look  for  Bry- 
done  to-morrow,  by  the  dawn  ;  and  as  for  Isaac  Muggs,  we  ex- 
pect to  catch  him  very  soon  after,  if  not  before.  We  hope  to 
be  in  readiness  along  the  river  banks,  to  see  whether  he  brings 
up  the  boats  which  are  fit  to  carry  such  a  valuable  cargo,  as 
you've  got  ready  here  to  put  in  them." 

"  Ah  ! — so  you've  got  the  Congaree  under  guard,  have  you  ?" 
demanded  the  other  with  the  same  seeming  indifference  of 
manner. 

"  It  will  be  somewhat  difficult  for  him  to  find  you  without 
first  finding  us"  replied  Stockton  with  a  chuckling  sort  of  tri- 
umph. 

"  So  much  for  Isaac,  then.  I  suppose  he  brings  Brydone 
along  with  him  ?"  was  the  carelessly  expressed  inquiry  of  Gray. 

"  No  !  no  !  He  will  be  more  certain  to  arrive,  and  comes  more 
willingly.  Bawdon  despatched  him  below  with  a  letter  to  Colo- 
nel Stewart,  at  Fairlawn,  and  he  will  be  here  too  soon  for  your 
liking.  He  comes  by  the  road.  Do  not  think  we  ventured  up- 
on this  business  without  preparation.  We  made  nice  calcula- 
tions and  timed  everything  to  the  proper  moment.  Brydone 


A  PARLEY.  415 

sleeps  to-night  at  Martin's  tavern,  so  we  may  expect  him  here 
by  sunrise.  We'll  be  ready,  at  all  events,  for  the  trial  by 
twelve  o'clock  to-morrow.  At  least  we  can  take  his  testimony 
and  wait  for  Muggs.  But  I  calculate  on  both  before  that  time." 

Watson  Gray  seemed  for  a  moment  lost  in  thought.  His 
dark  bushy  brows  were  bent  down  almost  to  the  concealment  of 
his  eyes. 

"  It  seems  to  worry  you !"  said  Stockton  with  a  sneer. 

"  Worry  me  !  No  !  no  !  Stockton,  you're  only  worrying  your- 
self. I  was  thinking  of  a  very  different  matter,"  replied  the 
other  with  a  good-natured  smile. 

"  Well,  do  you  say  that  you'll  be  ready  for  the  trial  then?" 

"  We're  ready  now ;  ready  always  for  fair  play.  But  you 
must  draw  off  your  troop." 

"  Very  well.  I  have  no  objection  to  that,  for  I  can  draw  'em 
on  again  at  a  moment's  warning.  If  you  don't  keep  faith  you'll 
sweat  for  it.  I'm  agreed  to  anything  that  don't  prevent  the 
trial.  Where  shall  it  be— here  ?" 

"  Here !  Oh,  no  !  To  have  your  sixty  men  rushing  upon  us 
at  close  muzzle-quarters  !  No,  no  !  We'll  have  it  in  the  woods, 
near  the  river,  where  my  half-score  of  muskets  may  be  covered 
by  the  trees,  and  be  something  of  a  match  for  your  troop.  Be- 
sides, the  women,  you  know  !" 

"  Well,  I'm  willing.  There's  a  clayey  bluff  just  above,  facing 
the  river-bend.  There's  something  of  an  opening,  and  I  reckon 
it's  a  sort  of  graveyard.  I  see  a  new  grave  there  and  a  cross 
upon  it.  Let  the  trial  be  there." 

"  A  new  grave  and  a  cross  upon  it !"  mused  the  other.  "That 
must  be  Mary  Clarkson's  grave  ;  but  the  cross  !  Ah  !  perhaps 
Miss  Flora  had  that  done.  She's  a  good  girl !  Well,  I'm 
agreed.  Let  it  be  there — just  at  the  turning  of  the  sun  at  noon." 

"  Keep  your  word,  Gray,  and  the  worst  enemy  of  Ned  Mor- 
ton  " 

"Yourself!" 

"  The  same  !  His  worst  enemy  can  ask  nothing  more.  If 
we  don't  convict  him " 

"  You'll  swallow  the  Congaree  !" 

"  You  may  laugh  now,  but  I  doubt  if  you  will  to-morrow ; 


416  THE  SCOUT. 

and  I  know  that  Ned  Morton  will  be  in  no  humor  to  laugh,  un- 
less he  does  so  because  he  likes  dancing  in  air  much  better  than 
most  people." 

"  Well,  well,  Stockton ;  we  shall  soon  see  enough.  To-mor- 
row's never  a  day  far  off,  and  here  comes  Darcy  to  relieve  you. 
But  as  for  your  hanging  Ned  Morton,  why,  man,  your  own  troop 
will  hardly  suffer  it." 

"  Ha !  will  they  not  ]  Is  that  your  hope  ?"  said  Stockton, 
with  an  exulting  sneer. 

"  Perhaps  !"  replied  the  the  other,  with  a  smile. 

The  entrance  of  Darcy  arrested  the  conference. 


CHAPTEE   XXXVIII. 

A   WITNESS    SILENCED. 

THE  business  of  the  two  had  reached  its  close  before  the 
return  of  Darcy  with  the  British  guard  which  he  had  released. 
Some  other  matters  were  adjusted  between  them,  and  Lieuten- 
ant Stockton  was  at  length  permitted  to  depart,  while  Watson 
Gray,  at  the  same  moment,  received  from  Darcy  the  still  half 
drunken  soldiery.  It  may  be  supposed  that  neither  Stockton 
nor  Darcy  was  altogether  so  well  satisfied  with  the  result  of 
their  expedition.  The  game  was  fairly  in  their  hands  ;  but  the 
precipitation  of  Stockton,  arising  from  a  too  great  feeling  of 
security,  and  a  desire  to  exult  over  his  threatened  victim,  led  to 
that  exposure  of  his  own  person  of  which  Watson  Gray  so  read- 
ily availed  himself.  The  reproaches  of  the  subordinate  were  not 
spared. 

"  But  it  comes  to  the  same  thing,"  said  Stockton.  "  He  is 
still  ours.  He  is  pledged  to  appear  at  the  trial." 

"  Ay,  but  suppose  he  does  not  come  ?" 

"  Then  the  delay  follows,  and  no  worse  evil.  We  have  men 
enough,  surely,  to  pull  the  old  house  about  his  ears." 


A   WITNESS  SILENCED.  417 

"  With  the  loss  of  half  of  them  !  A  dear  bargain,"  replied 
the  dissatisfied  lieutenant. 

"  Not  so  bad  either.  We  can  starve  them  out  in  three  days. 
But  there's  no  fear  that  Gray  will  not  keep  his  word.  They 
will  come  to  the  trial.  They  flatter  themselves  that  we  shall 
see  nothing  of  Isaac  Muggs,  whom  they've  sent  away,  and  I 
told  them  of  no  other  witness  than  Brydone.  I  said  nothing  of 
that  skulk,  Joe  Tanner.  He  and  Brydone  are  enough,  and 
knowing  the  absence  of  Muggs,  they'll  come  boldly  on  the 
ground,  and  walk  headlong  into  the  trap  we've  set  for  them." 

"  It's  well  you've  had  that  caution,  Stockton ;  for,  of  a  truth, 
you  have  so  far  played  your  cards  most  rashly.  We've  got 
desperate  men  to  deal  with,  and  that  Watson  Gray  has  got  more 
sense  in  one  little  finger  than  you  carry  in  your  whole  body." 

"  That's  not  so  civil,  Mr.  Darcy." 

"  No  !  but  it's  true  ;  and  when  you're  trifling  with  the  game 
of  both  of  us,  it's  necessary  to  jerk  you  up  suddenly  with  a  sharp 
truth  now  and  then,  by  way  of  a  curb  to  your  paces.  There's 
another  matter  that  your  proceeding  has  spoiled,  Stockton." 

"What  was  that?" 

"  The  gutting  of  the  house." 

"  Oh  !  that  follows,  of  course. 

"  A  bird  in  the  hand,  you  know.  They  may  have  time  now 
to  hide  away  the  valuables." 

"  It  will  be  a  close  hole  that  our  boys  can't  creep  into. 
Where  they've  gone  we  can  follow.  But  there's  no  doubt, 
Darcy,  that  I've  given  up  one  chance  which  befriended  us.  It's 
only  putting  off  for  to-morrow  what  might  have  been  done  to- 
day. Our  appetite  will  be  only  so  much  the  keener  for  the 
delay.  Did  you  see  Miss  Middleton  ?" 

"Ay — did  I  not!"  replied  Darcy.  "Look  you,  Stockton,  I 
stipulate  for  her.  You  must  not  think  to  swallow  all — rank, 
revenge,  riches — and  still  yearn  for  beauty.  She  must  go  to 
my  share  of  the  booty." 

"  Yours  !  Pooh,  Darcy  !  what  should  give  you  an  amorous 
tooth  ?  Don't  think  of  it,  my  good  fellow.  I've  set  my  mind 
upon  her.  It's  a  part  of  my  revenge.  She's  the  game  that's 
turned  Ned  Morton's  head — it  was  to  disgrace  him  before  her 

18* 


418  THE  SCOUT. 

that  made  me  blunder — and  unless  I  show  him  that  she,  too,  is 
at  my  mercy,  my  triumph  will  be  only  half  complete." 

Darcy  muttered  something  about  the  "  lion's  share,"  and  his 
muttering  reminded  Stockton  that  he  was  too  valuable  an  assist- 
ant to  be  trifled  with. 

"  Pshaw !"  he  exclaimed,  "  let  us  not  squabble  about  a  woman. 
I  don't  care  a  shilling  about  her.  But  she's  common  stock,  you 
know.  It  must  be  according  to  the  will  of  the  troop." 

We  forbear  listening  to  other  heads  of  their  private  arrange- 
ments. They  proceeded  to  rejoin  their  men  and  to  see  about 
the  disposition  of  their  sentinels,  in  secrecy,  along  the  banks  of 
the  river,  wherever  they  thought  it  probable  that  a  boat  could 
effect  a  landing.  They  did  not  bestow  a  very  close  watch  along 
the  land  side,  or  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  house,  for 
they  well  knew  that  Morton  could  not  escape,  in  his  present 
condition  of  feebleness,  by  any  but  a  water  conveyance.  He 
was  their  chief  object,  and  they  regarded  his  fate  as  now  una- 
voidable. 

The  safety  of  the  landlord,  Muggs,  it  has  been  already  seen, 
was  secured  by  the  persevering  and  sleepless  efforts  of  his  new 
comrade,  John  Bannister.  When  the  latter  had  swam  the  river, 
and  joined  him  on  the  other  side,  the  two  laid  themselves  quietly 
down  to  sleep  in  a  place  of  security,  having  resolved  to  get  up 
at  an  early  hour,  before  dawn,  and,  urging  their  boat  up  stream 
with  united  paddles,  keep  on  the  same  side  of  the  river  until 
they  could,  without  detection,  cross  to  that  on  which  the  enemy 
lay.  Their  aim  was  to  reach  a  point  above  the  usual  landing 
places  of  the  barony,  and  out  of  the  reach,  accordingly,  of  the 
line  of  sentinels,  each  of  which  John  Bannister  had  beheld  when 
he  was  placed. 

The  worthy  scout  was  resolved  to  do  all  that  he  might,  at  any 
risk,  for  the  safety  of  Flora,  and  for  her  rescue  from  the  ruthless 
villains  by  whom  her  house  was  surrounded.  He  did  not  con- 
jecture the  state  of  affairs  between  the  former  captain  of  the 
Black  liiders  and  his  troop ;  and  did  not  fancy  that  there  was 
any  cause  of  apprehension  for  the  fate  of  Edward  Conway, 
though  such  a  conviction  would  have  given  him  but  little  un- 
easiness. 


A  WITNESS  SILENCED.  419 

At  the  appointed  hour  he  awakened  his  companion,  struck  a 
light,  reloaded  his  rifle,  the  flint  of  which  he  carefully  examined  ; 
and,  having  put  himself  and  Muggs  in  as  good  condition  for  a 
conflict  as  possible,  he  shoved  his  canoe  up  the  stream. 

The  work  was  hard,  but  they  achieved  it.  They  plied  their 
paddles  vigorously,  until  they  were  enabled,  with  the  help  of 
the  current,  to  round  the  jutting  headland  where  slept  the  re- 
mains of  Mary  Clarkson.  They  had  scarcely  pulled  into  shore 
when  they  were  startled  by  the  sudden  rising  of  a  human  figure 
from  the  earth,  out  of  the  bosom  of  which,  and  almost  at  their 
feet,  he  seemed  to  emerge.  Bannister  pushed  back  from  the 
shore,  but  the  friendly  voice  of  Jake  Clarkson  reassured  him. 
He  had  effected  his  escape,  in  the  general  drunkenness  of  the 
soldiery,  though  how  that  had  been  brought  about,  he  could  tell 
but  little.  Those  who  had  drugged  their  cups,  had  evidently 
confounded  him  with  the  rest,  for  they  furnished  him  with  a 
portion  of  the  potent  beverage  also.  Of  this  he  drank  nothing, 
and  the  consequence  of  his  sobriety  was  his  successful  effort  at 
escape.  In  the  darkness,  he  had  been  enabled  to  feel  his  way 
to  the  spot  where  his  daughter  slept. 

He  could  give  no  further  explanation ;  nor  did  Bannister  an- 
noy him  on  the  subject.  He  was  content  with  the  acquisition 
of  a  stout  fellow,  whose  aim  was  deadly,  and  who  had  contrived 
to  secure  his  rifle  from  loss  in  all  his  several  mischances.  This 
he  still  carried  upon  his  arm,  and  Bannister  contented  himself 
with  instructing  him  to  get  it  in  readiness. 

"  See  to  the  flint  and  priming,  daddy  Jake,  for  the  time's 
a-coming  when  I  wouldn't  have  you  miss  fire  for  the  best  pole- 
boat  on  the  Congaree." 

If  there  was  toil  among  these  honest  fellows,  and  among  the 
outlaws  in  the  neighborhood  of  whose  camp  they  were  hovering, 
there  was  toil  and  anxiety  also  in  the  dwelling,  to  which,  though 
with  different  feelings,  the  eyes  of  both  these  parties  were  di- 
rected. Sleepless  and  prayerful  were  the  hours  which  the  fair 
ladies  of  the  mansion  passed  after  that  wild  and  fearful  inter- 
ruption which  they,  experienced  in  the  progress  of  the  evening 
meal.  But,  in  the  chamber  of  Edward  Morton,  a  more  stern 
and  immovable  sentiment  of  apprehension  prevailed  to  increase 


420  THE  SCOUT. 

the  gloom  of  his  midnight  watch,  and  to  darken  the  aspects  of 
the  two  who  sat  there  in  solemn  conference. 

Watson  Gray,  though  he  naturally  strove  to  infuse  a  feeling 
of  confidence  into  the  mind  of  his  superior,  could  not,  neverthe- 
less, entirely  divest  his  thoughts  of  the  sombre  tinge  which  they 
necessarily  took  from  his  feelings,  in  considering  the  events 
which  the  coming  day  was  to  bring  forth.  There  was  some- 
thing excessively  humbling  to  a  man  like  Edward  Morton,  in 
the  idea  of  ever  being  tried  for  treachery  by  those  whom  he  had 
so  often  led ;  —  and  to  be  placed  for  judgment  before  one  whom 
he  so  heartily  despised  as  Stockton,  was  no  small  part  of  the 
annoyance.  The  assurances  which  Watson  Gray  gave  him  did 
not  touch  this  part  of  his  disquietude.  The  simple  assurance  of 
his  ultimate  release  could  not  materially  lessen  the  pang  which 
he  felt  at  what  he  conceived  to  be  the  disgrace  of  such  a 
situation. 

"  Life  or  death,  Gray,"  he  said,  "  is  after  all  a  trifling  matter. 
I  have  the  one  here,"  touching  the  hilt  of  a  dirk  which  he  had 
just  placed  within  his  bosom,  "  or  here,"  and  his  fingers  rested 
on  the  handle  of  the  pistol  which  lay  beside  him  on  the  bed. 

"  Either  of  these  will  secure  me  from  the  indignity  which  this 
base  scoundrel  would  delight  to  fasten  upon  me ;  and,  as  for 
life,  I  believe  I  love  it  no  more  than  any  other  soldier  who 
knows  the  condition  of  the  game  he  plays  and  the  value  of  the 
stake  he  lays  down.  But,  to  be  hauled  up  and  called  to  an- 
swer to  such  a  scamp,  for  such  a  crime,  is,  really,  a  most  shock- 
ing necessity.  Can't  we  mend  the  matter  no  way  ?  Can't  we 
tamper  with  some  of  the  men  ?  There  are  a  few  whom  you 
could  manage.  There's  Butts,  both  the  Maybins,  Joe  Sutton, 
Peters,  and  half  a  dozen  more  that  were  always  devoted  to  me, 
though,  perhaps,  among  the  more  timid  of  the  herd.  If  you 
could  manage  these ;  if  you  could  persuade  them  to  join  us  here, 
with  your  bull-head  British  allies,  we  should  be  able  to  make 
fight,  and  finish  the  copartnership  in  that  manlier  way.  By 
Heaven,  I'm  stirred  up  with  the  notion !  You  must  try  it !  I 
shall  be  strong  enough  for  anything  when  the  time  comes ;  and 
I  feel,  that  in  actual  conflict  with  that  villain  Stockton,  I  could 
not  help  but  hew  him  to  pieces.  Bring  us  to  this  point,  Gray ! 


A   WITNESS  SILENCED.  421 

Work,  work,  man,  if  you  love  me !  If  your  wits  sleep,  wake 
them.  Now  or  never !  Let  them  save  me  from  this  d — nable 
situation  and  bitter  shame." 

The  confederate  shook  his  head  despondingly. 

"  No  doubt  if  we  could  get  at  these  fellows,  or  any  half  dozen 
in  the  troop,  they  might  be  bought  over  or  persuaded  in  some 
way  to  desert  to  us ;  but  do  you  not  see  that  the  difficulty  is  in 
getting  at  them  1  Were  I  to  venture  among  them,  I  should  be 
served  just  as  I  served  Stockton  to-night.  I  should  be  ham- 
pered hand  and  foot,  with  no  such  chance  of  making  terms  of 
escape  as  he  had.  No,  captain,  I  see  no  way  to  avoid  the  trial. 
You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  that.  But  I  don't  see  that 
you  will  have  anything  more  to  apprehend.  Muggs  is  out  of  the 
way,  and  won't  be  back  in  three  days.  He's  safe.  One  wit- 
ness is  not  enough,  and  as  for  Brydone — " 

«  D — n  him  !  D — n  him  !  The  double-dyed  traitor !  And 
he  was  paid  so  well  too  !" 

"  That  was  the  mistake,  I'm  thinking.  He  got  too  much  for 
that  last  business.  He  considered  it  the  last  job  that  you'd 
ever  give  him,  and  he  immediately  cast  about  for  a  new  em- 
ployer. He's  got  him,  but  I  do  not  think  he'll  keep  him  long." 

"  May  they  cut  each  other's  throats  !"  was  the  devout  prayer 
of  the  outlaw,  to  which  Gray  responded  with  a  deliberate 

"Amen!" 

What  was  further  said  between  the  two  that  night,  was  of  the 
same  temper  and  concerned  the  same  business.  Their  hopes 
and  fears,  plans  and  purposes,  so  far  as  Watson  Gray  deemed 
it  essential  that  his  principal  should  know  them,  underwent,  as 
it  was  natural  they  should,  a  prolonged  examination.  But  Gray 
felt  that  the  outlaw  would  need  all  his  strength  for  whatever 
events  might  follow,  and  determined,  therefore,  upon  leaving 
him  to  repose.  Besides,  he  had  some  schemes  working  in  his 
mind,  which  he  did  not  declare  to  his  principal,  and  which  it 
was  necessary  that  he  should  discuss  entirely  to  himself. 

He  had  already  taken  care  that  his  score  of  men,  by  this  time 
quite  sobered,  should  be  strictly  cautioned  on  the  subject  of  their 
watch  for  the  night,  and  so  placed,  within  the  dwelling,  as  to  baffle 
any  attempt  at  surprise  or  assault  from  without.  The  soldiers 


422  THE  SCOUT. 

did  not  now  need  much  exhortation  to  vigilance.  They  had 
already  had  some  taste  of  the  fruits  of  misbehavior,  as  in  their 
beastly  incapability  of  resentment,  the  outlaws  had  amused 
themselves  with  a  rough  pastime  at  their  expense,  in  which 
cuffs  and  kicks  were  the  most  gentle  courtesies  to  which  the 
victims  were  subjected. 

Having  exhorted  them,  with  every  possible  counsel  and  argu- 
ment, Gray  summoned  the  surgeon,  Hillhouse,  to  a  brief  confer- 
ence, and  assigned  to  him  certain  duties  of  the  watch  also. 
Though  a  frivolous,  foolish  person,  he  was  temperate,  and  the 
chief  object  of  Gray  was  to  k§ep  the  soldiers  from  any  excess 
during  an  absence  which,  it  seems,  he  meditated,  but  which  he 
did  not  declare  to  them,  or  to  his  associate,  Morton.  It  was  only 
necessary  to  intimate  to  Mr.  Hillhouse  what  havoc  the  Black 
lliders  would  make  if  they  could  once  lay  hands  upon  his  varie- 
gated wardrobe,  to  secure  all  the  future  vigilance  of  that  gen- 
tleman. 

All  matters  being  arranged  to  his  satisfaction,  Gray  stole  forth 
at  midnight  from  the  mansion,  none  knowing  and  none  suspect- 
ing his  departure  ;  and,  with  the  practised  arts  of  a  veteran  scout, 
he  contrived  to  take  from  the  stables  the  fleetest  horse  which 
they  contained.  Him  he  led,  as  quietly  as  he  could,  into  the 
woods  which  lay  to  the  west,  and  remote  equally  from  the  en- 
campment and  sentinels  of  the  Black  Riders.  Their  watch  was 
maintained  with  strictness,  but  only  on  the  river  side ;  and,  un- 
interrupted, Gray  soon  succeeded  in  placing  himself  in  full  cover 
of  the  forests,  and  out  of  the  neighborhood  of  the  enemy's  sen- 
tinels. He  kept  within  the  cover  of  the  woods  only  so  long  as 
sufficed  for  safety ;  then,  hurrying  into  the  main  road,  he  pur- 
sued his  way  down  the  country,  at  a  rapid  canter. 

The  object  of  Watson  Gray,  in  part,  may  be  conjectured,  by 
a  recurrence  to  that  portion  of  the  dialogue  which  he  had  with 
Stockton,  in  which  the  latter  accounted  for  the  absence  of  Bry- 
done,  the  most  important  witness  whom  he. could  array  against 
the  fidelity  of  Captain  Morton.  He  determined  to  go  forth, 
meet  Brydone,  and  bribe,  or  dissuade  him  from  his  meditated 
treachery.  He  had,  if  the  reader  will  remember,  worme^l  out 
of  the  less  acute  and  subtle  Stockton,  the  cause  of  Brydone's  ab- 


A   WITNESS  SILENCED.  423 

sence ;  the  route  which  he  would  take,  and  the  probable  time 
of  his  arrival  in  the  morning.  To  keep  him  back  from  the  ap- 
proaching trial  he  believed  to  be  more  important  than  he  allowed 
to  appear  to  Morton.  He  knew  that  their  enemies  would  not 
be  able  to  secure  the  testimony  of  Muggs,  the  landlord,  within 
the  allotted  time,  even  if  they  succeeded,  finally,  in  securing  his 
person;  —  and  he  did  not  doubt  that  Stockton  was  prepared 
with  some  other  witness,  of  whom  he  said  nothing,  in  order  the 
more  effectually  to  delude  the  defendant  into  the  field.  This 
was,  indeed,  the  case,  as  we  have  already  seen  from  the  confer- 
ence between  Stockton  and  his  more  subtle  confederate,  Darcy. 

"At  all  events,"  soliloquized  the  scout,  "  at  all  events,  it  will 
be  the  safe  policy  to  keep  Brydone  out  of  the  way.  I  must 
send  him  on  another  journey.  He  sleeps  at  Martin's  tavern. 
Let  me  see  ; — Martin's  is  but  fourteen  miles.  He  can  ride  that 
at  a  dog-trot  in  three  hours.  He  will  probably  start  at  day- 
light, and  calculate  to  take  his  breakfast  at  the  barony.  That 
is  Stockton's  calculation.  I  must  baffle  him.  Brydone  must  put 
off  eating  that  breakfast." 

Watson  Gray  did  not  continue  his  horse  at  the  same  pace  at 
which  he  started.  He  drew  up,  after  the  first  five  miles,  and 
suffered  him  to  trot  and  walk  alternately.  He  had  not  gone 
more  than  seven,  when  day  broke  upon  the  forests,  and  the  keen 
eyes  of  the  scout  were  then  set  to  their  best  uses,  as  he  sur- 
veyed the  road  upon  which  he  travelled.  By  the  time  the  sun 
rose  he  had  gone  quite  as  far  as  he  intended.  It  was  not  a  part 
of  his  policy  to  be  seen  at  Martin's  tavern ;  or  seen  at  all,  by 
any  one,  who  might  reveal  the  fact  hereafter  that  he  had  gone 
upon  the  same  road  over  which  Brydone  was  expected. 

No  man  was  better  able  to  foresee,  and  provide  against  all 
contingencies,  than  Watson  Gray.  .His  every  step  was  the  re- 
sult of  a  close  calculation  of  its  probable  effects  for  good  and 
evil.  He  quietly  turned  into  the  woods,  when  he  had  reached 
a  thicket  which  promised  him  sufficient  concealment  for  his  pur- 
poses. Here  he  re-examined  his  pistols,  which  were  loaded, 
each,  with  a  brace  of  bullets.  He  stirred  the  priming  with  his 
finger,  rasped  the  flints  slightly  with  the  horn  handle  of  his 
knife,  and  adjusted  the  weapons  in  his  belt  for  convenient  use. 


424  THE  SCOUT. 

He  did  not  dismount  from  his  saddle,  but  took  care  to  place  him- 
self in  such  a  position,  on  the  upper  edge  of  the  thicket,  as  to 
remain  unseen  from  below ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  the  path 
was  so  unobstructed  from  above  as  to  permit  him  to  emerge 
suddenly,  without  obstruction  from  the  undergrowth,  at  any  mo- 
ment, into  the  main  track. 

In  this  position  he  was  compelled  to  wait  something  longer 
than  he  had  expected.  But  Watson  Gray,  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness, was  as  patient  as  the  grave.  He  was  never  troubled  with 
that  fidgety  peevishness  which  afflicts  small  people,  and  puts 
them  into  a  fever,  unless  the  winds  rise  from  the  right  quarter 
at  the  very  moment  when  they  are  desired  to  blow.  He  could 
wait,  not  only  without  complaint  or  querulousness ;  but  he  pre- 
pared himself  to  wait,  just  as  certainly  as  to  perform.  To  suf- 
fer and  to  endure,  he  had  sufficient  common  sense  philosophy  to 
perceive,  was  equally  the  allotment  of  life. 

His  patience  was  sufficiently  tested  on  the  present  occasion. 
He  waited  fully  two  hours,  and  with  no  greater  sign  of  discon- 
tent, than  could  be  conjectured  from  his  occasionally  transferring 
his  right  and  then  his  left  leg  from  .the  stirrup  to  the  pommel  of 
his  saddle,  simply  to  rest  the  members,  as  they  happened  to  be 
more  or  less  stiffened  by  the  want  of  exercise.  All  the  while, 
his  eyes  keenly  pierced  the  thicket  below  him,  and  his  ears 
pricked  up,  like  his  steed's,  which  he  also  cautiously  watched, 
with  the  habitual  readiness  of  a  practised  woodman.  At  length 
the  tedium  of  his  situation  was  relieved.  The  tramp  of  a  horse 
was  heard  at  a  small  distance,  and  as  the  traveller  came  up  to 
the  thicket,  Watson  Gray  quietly  rode  out  beside  him. 

"Ha!  Watson  Gray!"  exclaimed  the  new-comer,  who  was 
the  person  expected. 

"  The  same,  Joe  Brydone,"  was  the  answer  of  Gray,  in  tones 
which  were  gentle,  quiet,  and  evidently  intended  to  soothe  the 
alarm  of  the  other ;  an  alarm  which  was  clearly  conveyed  in 
his  faltering  accents,  and  in  the  sudden  movement  of  his  bridle 
hand,  by  which  his  steed  was  made  to  swerve  away  to  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  road. 

If  his  object  was  flight,  it  did  not  promise  to  be  successful, 
for  the  powerful  and  fleet  animal  bestrode  by  Gray  left  him  no 


A   WITNESS  SILENCED.  425 

hope  to  escape  by  running  from  his  unwelcome  companion. 
This  he  soon  perceived  ;  and,  encouraged  perhaps  by  the  friend- 
ly accent  of  Gray's  voice,  was  content  to  keep  along  with  him 
at  the  same  pace  which  he  was  pursuing  when  they  encountered. 
But  his  looks  betrayed  his  disquiet.  He  had  all  the  misgivings 
of  the  conscious  traitor,  apprehensive  for  his  treasonable  secret. 
On  this  head  Gray  did  not  leave  him  very  long  in  doubt. 

"  I've  been  looking  for  you,  Brydone." 

"Ah  !  why — what's  the  matter1?" 

"  Nay,  nothing  much,  I  reckon,  only — you're  expected  at  the 
barony." 

"  I  know  : — I'm  on  my  way  there  now." 

'  Ned  Morton  expects  you  !" 

"  Who  :  the  captain  1"  with  some  surprise. 

"  Yes !  a  base  charge  is  made  against  him  by  that  scoundrel 
Stockton,  and  he  wants  you  to  disprove  it." 

"What's  that?"  demanded  the  other. 

"  Why,  neither  more  nor  less,  than  that  the  captain  has  been 
making  preparations  to  desert  the  troop,  in  violation  of  his  oath." 

"  Well,  but  Gray,  that's  the  truth,  you  know,"  said  Brydone 
with  more  confidence. 

"  How  !  I  know ! — I  know  nothing  about  it." 

"  Why,  yes  you  do.  Didn't  you  send  me  yourself  to  Isaac 
Muggs,  and  tell  me  what  to  say  and  do  ?" 

"  Brydone,  you're  foolish.  If  I  sent  you,  didn't  I  pay  you 
for  going ;  and  isn't  it  a  part  of  our  business  that  you  should 
keep  the  secret  if  you  keep  the  money  ?  You  got  paid  for  go- 
ing, and  got  paid  for  keeping  the  secret ;  and  now  we  expect 
you  to  go  up  and  prove  this  fellow  Stockton  to  be  a  liar  and  an 
ass." 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Gray,"  said  the  other,  doggedly. 

"And  why  not ?  There  are  more  guineas  to  be  got  where 
the  last  came  from."  ^ 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  you  shall  see.  I  promise  you  twenty  guineas,  if  you 
will  swear  to  the  truth,  as  I  tell  it  to  you,  on  this  trial." 

"  I  can't,  Gray.  I've  told  the  truth  already  to  Captain  Stock- 
ton, and  to  more  than  him." 


426  THE   SCOUT. 

"  But  you  were  under  a  mistake,  Brydone,  my  good  fellow. 
Don't  be  foolish  now.  You  will  only  be  making  a  lasting  enemy 
of  Captain  Morton,  who  has  always  been  your  friend,  and  who 
will  never  forget  your  treachery,  if  you  appear  in  this  business 
against  him." 

"  His  enmity  won't  count  for  much  when  they've  tried  him, 
Gray.  He  must  swing." 

"  But  mine  will  count  for  something.  Would  you  be  making 
an  enemy  of  me,  also  ?  If  you  go  forward  and  swear  against 
him,  you  swear  against  me  too." 

"  I  can't  help  it — it's  the  truth." 

"  But  where's  the  necessity  of  telling  the  truth  at  this  time 
of  day  ?  What's  the  use  of  beginning  a  new  business  so  late 
in  life  ?  You've  told  Stockton,  it  seems  ;  go  forward  then,  and 
downface  him  that  you  never  told  him  a  word  on  the  subject, 
and  I  will  be  your  security  for  twenty  guineas." 

"  I  can't ; — I  told  Lieutenant  Darcy  also,  and  several  others." 

"  Ah  !  that's  bad — that's  very  bad.  My  dear  Brydone,  that's 
unfortunate  for  all  of  us." 

"  I  don't  see  how  it's  unfortunate  for  more  than  him,"  said 
Brydone,  with  recovered  coolness. 

"  Why  yes,  it's  a  loss  to  you ;  a  loss  of  money,  and,  perhaps, 
something  as  valuable.  But  there's  yet  a  way  by  which  you 
may  mend  it,  and  prevent  the  loss.  You  shall  have  the  twenty 
guineas,  if  you'll  just  take  the  back  track  down  the  country, 
and  be  gone  for  five  days.  I  don't  care  where  you  go,  or  what 
you  do  in  the  meantime,  so  that  you  don't  come  within  twenty 
miles  of  the  barony." 

"  I  can't  think  of  it,"  said  the  other  obstinately. 

Watson  Gray  regarded  him  earnestly,  for  a  few  moments,  be- 
fore he  continued. 

"  How  a  fellow  of  good  sense  will  sometimes  trifle  with  his 
good  forfcwie,  and  risk  everything  on  a  blind  chance.  Joe  Bry- 
done, what's  got  into  you,  that  you  can't  see  the  road  that's 
safest  and  most  profitable  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  replied  the  other  with  a  grin  of  the  coolest 
self-complaisance. 

He  was  answered  by  a  smile  of  Gray,  one   of  that  sinister 


A   WITNESS  SILENCED.  427 

kind  which  an  observing  man  would  shudder  to  behold  in  the 
countenance  of  a  dark  and  determined  one. 

"  Brydone,"  he  said,  "let  me  give  you  some  counsel — the 
last,  perhaps,  I  shall  ever  give  you.  You're  in  the  way  of  dan- 
ger if  you  go  up  to  the  barony.  There  will  be  hot  fighting  there 
to-day.  Captain  Morton's  friends  won't  stand  by  and  see  him 
swing,  to  please  a  cowardly  scamp  like  Stockton.  You  can 
save  yourself  all  risk,  and  a  good  share  of  money  besides,  by 
taking  the  twenty  guineas,  and  riding  down  the  road." 

"Ah,  ha!  Watson  Gray! — but  where  then  would  be  my 
share  at  the  gutting  of  the  barony  ?" 

"  The  share  of  a  fool,  perhaps,  whose  fingers  are  made  use  of 
to  take  the  nuts  from  the  fire." 

"  No  more  fool  than  yourself,  Watson  Gray ;  and  let  me  tell 
you  to  look  to  yourself  as  well  as  the  captain.  There's  more 
halters  than  one  in  preparation." 

"Ah,  do  you  say  so1?"  replied  Gray,  coolly,  as  the  other 
jerked  up  the  bridle  of  his  horse  and  prepared  to  ride  forward. 

"  Yes  !  and  I  warn  you  that  you  had  better  take  the  road  down 
the  country,  rather  than  me.  Your  chance  isn't  so  much  better 
than  that  of  Ned  Morton,  that  you  can  stand  by  and  see  him 
hoisted,  without  running  a  narrow  chance  of  getting  your  neck 
into  the  noose.  Now,  take  my  word,  for  what  I'm  telling  you — 
you've  given  me  what  you  call  good  advice ;  I'll  give  you  some 
in  return.  Do  just  what  you  wanted  me  to  do.  Turn  your 
horse's  head  and  ride  down  the  country,  and  don't  trust  yourself 
within  a  day's  ride  of  the  barony.  By  hard  pushing,  you'll  get 
to  Martin's  in  time  for  breakfast,  while  I'll  ride  for'a'd  and  take 
mine  at  the  barony." 

"  You  are  very  considerate,  Joe  — very.  But  I  don't  despair 
of  convincing  you  by  the  sight  of  the  twenty  guineas.  Gold 
is  so  lovely  a  metal,  that  a  handful  of  it  persuades  where  all 
human  argument  will  fail ;  and  I  think,  that  by  giving  you  a 
sufficient  share  of  it  to  carry,  you  will  stop  long  enough,  before 
you  go  on  with  this  cruel  business.  You  certainly  can't  find 
any  pleasure  in  seeing  your  old  friends  hung ;  and  when  it's  to 
your  interest,  too,  that  they  should  escape,  it  must  be  the  worst 
sort  of  madness  in  you  to  go  forward." 


428  THE   SCOUT. 

"You  may  put  it  up.  I  won't  look.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Watson  Gray  —  I  know  very  well  what's  locked  up  in  Middle- 
ton  barony.  I  should  be  a  pretty  fool  to  take  twenty  guineas, 
when  I  can  get  two  hundred." 

Meantime,  under  the  pretence  of  taking  the  money  from  his 
bosom,  Gray  had  taken  a  pistol  from  his  belt.  This  he  held  in 
readiness,  and  within  a  couple  of  feet  from  the  head  of  Brydone. 
The  latter  had  pushed  his  horse  a  little  in  the  advance,  while 
Gray  had  naturally  kept  his  steed  in  while  extricating  the 
pistol. 

"  Be  persuaded,  Brydone,"  continued  Gray,  with  all  the  gen- 
tleness of  one  who  was  simply  bent  to  conciliate ;  "  only  cast 
your  eyes  round  upon  this  metal,  and  you  will  be  convinced. 
It  is  a  sight  which  usually  proves  very  convincing." 

But  the  fellow  doggedly  refused  to  turn  his  head,  which  he 
continued  to  shake  negatively. 

"No,  no!"  he  answered;  "it  can't  convince  me,  Watson 
Gray.  You  needn't  to  pull  out  your  purse  and  waste  your 
words.  Put  up  your  money.  I  should  be  a  blasted  fool  to  give 
up  my  chance  at  Middleton  barony,  and  Ned  Morton's  share, 
for  so  poor  a  sum  as  twenty  guineas." 

"Fool!"  exclaimed  Gray,  "then  die  in  your  folly!  Take 
lead,  since  gold  won't  suit  you :"  and,  with  the  words,  he  pulled 
trigger,  and  drove  a  brace  of  bullets  through  the  skull  of  his 
wilful  companion.  Brydone  tumbled  from  his  horse  without  a 
groan. 

"  I  would  have  saved  the  ass  if  he  would  have  let  me,"  said 
Gray,  dismounting  leisurely ;  and,  fastening  his  own  and  the 
horse  of  the  murdered  man  in  the  thicket,  he  proceeded  to  lift 
the  carcass  upon  his  shoulder.  He  carried  it  into  the  deepest 
part  of  the  woods,  a  hundred  yards  or  more  from  the  roadside, 
and,  having  first  emptied  the  pockets,  cast  it  down  into  the 
channel  of  a  little  creek,  the  watery  ooze  of  which  did  not  suf- 
fice to  cover  it.  The  face  was  downward,  but  the  back  of  his 
head,  mangled  and  shattered  by  the  bullets,  remained  upward 
and  visible  through  the  water.  From  the  garments  of  Brydone 
he  gleaned  an  amount  in  gold  almost  as  great  as  that  which  he 
had  tendered  him  ;  and,  with  characteristic  philosophy,  he  thus 


A   SEQUEL  TO   AN   EVIL   DEED.  429 

soliloquized  while  he  counted  it  over  and  transferred  it  to  his 
own  pockets. 

"  A  clear  loss  of  forty  guineas  to  the  foolish  fellow.  This  is 
all  the  work  of  avarice.  Now,  if  his  heart  hadn't  been  set  upon 
gutting  the  barony,  he'd  have  seen  the  reason  of  everything  I 
said  to  him.  He'd  have  seen  that  it  was  a  short  matter  of  life 
and  death  between  us.  Him  or  me !  Me  or  him !  Turn  it 
which  way  you  will,  like  '  96,'*  it's  still  the  same.  I  don't  like 
to  use  bullets  when  other  arguments  will  do  :  but  'twas  meant 
to  be  so.  There  was  a  fate  in  the  matter — as  there  is  pretty 
much  in  all  matters.  He  wasn't  to  listen  to  arguments  this 
time,  and  I  was  to  shoot  him.  He  was  a  good  runner  —  and 
that's  as  much  as  could  be  said  of  him — but  a  most  conceited 
fool.  .  .  .  Well,  our  reckoning's  over.  He's  got  his  pay  and  dis- 
charge, and  Stockton's  lost  his  witness.  I  was  fearful  I'd  have 
to  shoot  him,  when  I  set  out.  The  foolish  fellow !  He  wouldn't 
have  believed  it  if  I  had  told  him.  With  such  a  person,  feeling 
is  the  only  sort  of  believing :  a  bullet's  the  only  thing  to  con- 
vince a  hard  head.  He's  got  it,  and  no  more  can  be  said." 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

A   SEQUEL   TO   AN    EVIL    DEED. 

THE  probable  and  ultimate  task  which  Watson  Gray  had 
assigned  to  himself  for  performance,  on  quitting  the  barony 
that  morning,  was  fairly  over ;  but  the  murderer,  by  that  san- 
guinary execution,  did  not  entirely  conclude  the  bloody  work 
which  he  had  thus  unscrupulously  begun.  He  was  one  of  those 
professional  monsters,  whose  brag  it  is  that  they  make  a  clean 
finish  of  the  job,  and  leave  behind  them  no  telltale  and  unneces- 

*  The  two  numbers  which  compose  the  name  of  the  old  state  district  of 
Ninety-Six,  expressing  the  same  quantity  when  viewed  on  either  side,  sug- 
gested to  one  of  the  members  of  the  legislature  a  grave  argument  for  contin- 
uing the  name,  when  a  change  was  contemplated,  and  effected,  for  that  section 
of  country.  A  better  argument  for  its  preservation  was  to  be  found  in  the 
distinguished  share  which  it  had  in  the  Revolutionary  struggle. 


430  THE   SCOUT. 

sary  chips  which  they  might  readily  put  out  of  sight.  He  had 
no  scruples  in  pocketing  the  money  which  he  had  taken  from 
the  garments  of  Brydone ;  but  he  knew  that  the  horse  of  the 
murdered  man  could  be  identified ;  and  accordingly,  though  with 
much  more  reluctance  than  he  had  manifested  in  the  case  of  his 
master,  he  decreed  to  the  animal  the  same  fate.  He  brought 
him  to  the  spot  where  he  had  thrown  the  body,  and  despatched 
him  in  like  manner,  by  putting  a  brace  of  bullets  through  his 
head.  Then,  with  all  the  coolness  of  the  veteran  ruffian,  he 
reloaded  his  weapons  where  he  stood,  and,  having  done  so, 
returned  quietly  to  the  spot  where  his  own  steed  had  been 
fastened. 

But  the  "  fate"  about  which  Watson  Gray  had  soliloquized, 
after  the  usual  fashion  of  the  ruffian,  was  disposed  to  be  partic- 
ularly busy  that  day  and  in  that  neighborhood.  The  gratuitous 
killing  of  the  horse,  though  designed  to  increase  the  securities 
of  the  murderer,  helped  really  to  dimmish  them.  The  report 
of  his  last  pistol  had  awakened  other  echoes  than  such  as  were 
altogether  desirable  ;  and  he,  who  had  so  lately  sent  his  fellow- 
creature  to  his  sudden  and  fearful  account,  was  soon  aroused  to 
the  necessity  of  seeking  measures  for  his  own  life  and  safety. 

He  had  left  the  plain  which  he  had  made  memorable  by  his 
evil  deed,  not  more  than  half  a  mile  behind  him,  when  he  was 
startled  by  the  mellow  note  of  a  bugle  in  his  rear.  A  faint 
answer  was  returned  from  above,  and  he  now  began  to  fear  that 
his  path  was  beset  by  cavalry.  Could  it  be  that  Stockton  had 
got  some  intimation  of  his  departure  from  the  barony,  and, 
suspecting  his  object,  had  set  off  in  pursuit  ?  This  was  the 
more  obvious  interpretation  of  the  sounds  which  alarmed  him. 
This  was  the  most  natural  suspicion  of  his  mind. 

He  stopped  his  horse  for  a  few  seconds  on  the  edge  of  the 
road,  and  partly  in  the  cover  of  the  wood,  undetermined  whether 
to  dismount  and  take  the  bushes,  or  boldly  dash  forward  and 
trust  to  the  fleetness  of  his  steed.  But  for  the  difficulty  of 
hiding  the  animal,  the  former  would  have  been  the  best  policy. 
He  chose  a  middle  course  and  rode  off  to  the  left,  into  the  forest, 
at  as  easy  a  pace  as  was  possible.  But  he  had  not  gone  a  hun- 
dred yards  before  he  espied  the  imperfect  outlines  of  three 


A   SEQUEL   TO    AN   EVIL   DEED.  431 

horsemen  in  a  group,  on  the  very  line  he  was  pursuing.  They 
were  at  some  distance,  and  did  not,  probably,  perceive  him 
where  he  stood.  Drawing  up  his  reins,  he  quietly  turned  about, 
and  endeavored  to  cross  the  road  in  order  to  bury  himself  in 
the  woods  opposite  ;  but,  in  crossing,  he  saw  and  was  seen  by  at 
least  twenty  other  horsemen. 

The  brief  glimpse  -which  was  afforded  him  of  these  men 
showed  him  that  they  were  none  of  Stockton's,  but  did  not  les- 
sen, in  any  degree,  his  cause  of  apprehension,  or  the  necessity 
of  his  flight.  The  pale-yellow  crescent  which  gleamed  upon 
their  caps  of  felt  or  fur,  and  their  blue  uniforms,  apprized  him 
that  they  were  the  favorite  troopers  of  Clarence  Conway ;  and 
the  wild  shout  which  they  set  up  at  seeing  him,  too  plainly  told 
the  eagerness  with  which  they  were  resolved  to  dash  upon  their 
prey.  Gnashing  his  teeth  in  the  bitterness  of  his  disappoint- 
ment, he  growled  in  loud  soliloquy,  as  he  drove  the  spurs  into 
his  charger's  sides,  and  sent  him  headlong  through  the  woods. 

"  Hell's  curses  on  such  luck.  Here,  when  all  was  as  it  should 
be,  to  have  him  cross  the  track.  It  will  be  too  late  to  get  back 
to  the  captain !" 

At  this  time,  the  apprehensions  of  Watson  Gray  seemed  en- 
tirely given  to  his  superior.  The  idea  of  his  own  escape  being 
doubtful,  did  not  once  seem  to  cross  his  mind.  He  looked  up  to 
the  sun,  which  was  now  speeding  rapidly  onward  to  his  meridi- 
an summits,  and  muttered, 

"  Eight  good  miles  yet,  and  how  many  twists  and  tums  be- 
side, the  d — 1  only  knows  !  Would  to  Heaven  that  Stockton 
would  only  come  into  the  woods  now.  There  could  be  no  more 
pretty  or  profitable  game  for  us,  than  to  see  his  rascals,  and 
these,  knocking  out  each  other's  brains.  Where  the  deuce,  did 
Conway  spring  from  1  He's  after  Stockton,  that's  clear  ;  but 
what  brought  him  below  1  Not  a  solitary  scoundrel  of  a  runner 
in  all  last  week,  to  tell  us  anything — no  wonder  that  we  knock 
our  skulls  against  the  pine  trees." 

Such  were  his  murmurings  as  he  galloped  forward.  The  pur- 
suit was  begun  with  great  spirit,  from  several  quarters  at  the 
same  time ;  betuaying  a  fact  which  Gray  had  not  before  expect- 
ed, and  which  now  began  to  awaken  his  apprehensions  for  his 


432  THE  SCOUT. 

own  safety.  He  was  evidently  environed  by  his  foes.  There 
had  been  an  effort  made  to  surround  him.  This,  he  quickly 
conjectured  to  have  been  in  consequence  of  the  alarm  which  he 
himself  had  given,  by  the  use  of  firearms,  in  his  late  performances. 

'iSo  much  for  firing  that  last  pistol.  It  was  not  needful. 
What  did  I  care  if  they  did  find  the  horse  afterward.  Nobody 
could  trouble  me  with  the  matter.  But  it's  too  late  for  wisdom. 
I  must  do  the  best.  I  don't  think  they've  closed  me  in  quite." 

But  they  had.  The  very  first  pistol-shot  had  been  reported 
to  Conway  by  one  of  his  scouts,  and  the  troop  had  been  scat- 
tered instantly,  with  orders  to  take  a  wide  circuit,  and  contract 
to  a  common  centre,  around  the  spot  whence  the  alarm  had  aris- 
en. The  second  shot  quickened  their  movements,  and  their  ob- 
ject was  facilitated  by  the  delay  to  which  Gray  was  subjected 
in  the  removal  of  the  body  of  Brydone,  and  in  the  search  which 
he  afterward  made  of  the  pockets  of  his  victim.  He  soon  saw 
the  fruits  of  his  error — of  that  which  is  scarcely  an  error  in  a 
sagacious  scout — that  Indian  caution  which  secures  and  smooths 
everything  behind  him,  even  to  the  obliteration  of  his  own  foot- 
steps. 

He  had  ridden  but  a  few  hundred  yards  farther,  when  he  dis- 
covered that  the  foe  was  still  in  front  of  him.  Two  of  the  "  Con- 
garee  Blues,"  well  mounted  and  armed,  were  planted  directly  in 
his  track,  and  within  twenty  paces  of  each  other.  Both  were 
stationary,  and  seemed  quietly  awaiting  his  approach. 

A  desperate  fight,  or  a  passive  surrender  was  only  to  be  avoid- 
ed by  a  ruse  de  guerre.  The  chances  of  the  two  former  seem- 
ed equally  dubious.  Watson  Gray  was  a  man  of  brawn,  of  great 
activity  and  muscle.  He  would  not  have  thought  it  a  doubtful 
chance,  by  any  means,  to  have  grappled  with  either  of  the  foes 
before  him.  He  would  have  laughed,  perhaps,  at  the  absurdity 
of  any  apprehensions  which  might  be  entertained  in  his  behalf, 
in  such  a  conflict.  But  with  the  two,  the  case  was  somewhat 
different.  The  one  would  be  able  to  delay  him  sufficiently  long 
to  permit  the  other  to  shoot,  or  cut  him  down,  at  leisure,  and 
without  hazard.  Surrender  was  an  expedient  scarcely  more 
promising.  The  Black  Elders  had  long  since  been  out  of  the 
pale  of  mercy  along  the  Congaree ;  and  the  appeal  for  quarter, 


A   SEQUEL   TO    AN   EVIL   DEED.  433 

on  the  part' of  one  wearing  their  uniform,  would  have  been  an- 
swered by  short  shrift  and  sure  cord. 

But  there  was  a  ruse  which  he  might  practise,  and  to  which 
he  now  addressed  all  his  energies.  He  lessened  the  rapidity  of 
his  motion,  after  satisfying  himself  by  a  glance  behind  him,  that 
he  was  considerably  in  advance  of  the  rear  pursuit.  He  was 
now  sufficiently  nigh  to  those  in  front  to  hear  their  voices. 
They  charged  him  to  surrender  as  he  approached ;  and,  with  a 
motion  studiously  intended  for  them  to  see, 'he  returned  the  pis- 
tol to  his  belt,  which  before  he  had  kept  ready  in  his  hand. 
This  was  a  pacific  sign,  and  his  reply  to  the  challenge  confirm- 
ed its  apparent  signification. 

"Good  terms — good  quarter — and  I'll  surrender,"  was  his 
reply. 

"  Ay,  ay  !  —  you  shall  have  terms  enough,"  was  the  answer  ; 
and  the  young  dragoon  laughed  aloud  at  the  seeming  anxiety 
with  which  the  fugitive  appeared  to  insist  upon  the  terms  of 

safety.     Gray  muttered  between  his  teeth 

"  He  means  good  rope  ;  but  he  shall  laugh  t'other  side  of  his 
mouth,  the  rascal !" 

Maintaining  an  appearance  studiously  pacific,  and  giving  an 
occasional  glance  behind  him,  as  if  prompted  by  terror,  Gray 
took  especial  care  to  carry  his  horse  to  the  right  hand  of  the 
farthest  trooper,  who  was  placed  on  the  right  of  his  comrade, 
and,  as  we  have  said,  some  twenty  paces  from  him.  By  this 
movement  he  contrived  to  throw  out  one  of  the  troopers  alto- 
gether, the  other  being  between  Watson  Gray  and  his  comrade. 
Approaching  this  one  he  began  drawing  up  his  steed,  but  when 
almost  up,  and  when  the  dragoon  looked  momentarily  to  see  him 
dismount,  he  dashed  the  spurs  suddenly  into  the  animal's  sides, 
gave  him  free  rein,  and  adding  to  his  impetus  by  the  wildest 
halloo  of  which  his  lungs  were  capable,  he  sent  the  powerful 
steed,  with  irresistible  impulse,  full  against  the  opposing  horse 
and  horseman.  The  sword  of  the  trooper  descended,  but  it  was 
only  while  himself  and  horse  were  tumbling  to  the  ground.  A 
moment  more,  and  Watson  Gray  went  over  his  fallen  opponent 
with  a  bound  as  free  as  if  the  interruption  had  been  such  onlv 
as  a  rush  offers  to  the  passage  of  the  west  wind. 

19 


434  THE  SCOUT. 

But  a  new  prospect  of  strife  opened  before  liis  path  almost 
the  instant  after.  One  and  another  of  Conway's  troop  appear- 
ed at  almost  every  interval  in  the  forest.  The  pursuing  party 
were  pressing  forward  with  wild  shouts  of  rage  and  encourage- 
ment from  behind,  and  a  darker  feeling,  and  far  more  solemn 
conviction  of  evil,  now  filled  the  mind  of  the  outlaw. 

"  A  life's  only  a  life,  after  all.  It's  what  we  all  have  to  pay 
one  day  or  another.  I  don't  think  I  shortened  Joe  Brydone's 
very  much,  and  if  the  time's  come  to  shorten  mine,  I  reckon  it 
wouldn't  be  very  far  off  any  how.  As  for  the  captain,  he  don't 
know,  and  he'll  be  blaming  me,  but  I've  done  the  best  for  him. 
It's  only  on  his  account  I'm  in  this  hobble.  I  could  easily  have 
managed  Stockton  on  my  own.  Well,  neither  of  us  knows  who's 
to  be  first ;  but  the  game  looks  as  if  'twas  nearly  up  for  me.  It 
won't  be  the  rope  though,  I  reckon.  No  !  no  !  I'm  pretty  safe 
on  that  score." 

The  dark  impressions  of  his  mind  found  their  utterance,  in 
this  form,  in  the  few  brief  moments  that  elapsed  after  the  dis- 
covery of  his  new  enemies.  They  did  not  seem  disposed  to 
await  his  coming  forward,  as  had  been  the  case  with  the  dra- 
goon whom  he  had  foiled  and  overthrown.  They  were  advan- 
cing briskly  upon  him  from  every  side.  He  would  willingly  have 
awaited  them  without  any  movement,  but  for  the  rapidly  sound- 
ing hoofs  in  the  rear.  These  drove  him  forward ;  and  he  de- 
rived a  new  stimulus  of  daring,  as  he  discovered  among  the  ad- 
vancing horsemen  the  person  of  Clarence  Conway  himself. 

Watson  Gray  had  imbibed  from  his  leader  some  portion  of 
the  hate  which  the  latter  entertained,  to  a  degree  so  mortal,  for 
his  more  honorable  and  fortunate  brother.  Not  that  lie  was  a 
man  to  entertain  much  malice.  But  he  had  learned  to  sympa- 
thize so  much  with  his  confederate  in  crime,  that  he  gradually 
shared  his  hates  and  prejudices,  even  though  he  lacked  the  same 
fiery  passions  which  would  have  provoked  their  origination  in 
himself.  The  sight  of  Clarence  Conw'ay  aroused  in  him  some- 
thing more  than  the  mere  desire  of  escape.  Of  escape,  indeed, 
he  did  not  now  think  so  much.  But  the  desire  to  drag  down 
with  him  into  the  embrace  of  death  an  object  of  so  much  anxi- 
ety and  hate,  and  frequent  vexation,  was  itself  a\  delight ;  and 


A   SEQUEL   TO    AN  ^EVIL   DEED.  435 

the  thought  begat  a  hope  in  his  mind,  which  left  him  compara- 
tively indifferent  to  all  the  dangers  which  might  have  threaten- 
ed himself.  He  saw  Conway  approaching,  but  he  did  not  now 
wait  for  his  coming.  To  remain,  indeed,  was  to  subject  him  to 
the  necessity  of  throwing  away  his  resources  of  death  and  of 
defence,  upon  the  less  worthy  antagonists  who  were  closing  up 
from  behind.  Accordingly,  drawing  both  pistols  from  his  belt, 
he  dropped  the  reins  of  his  horse  upon  his  neck,  and  gave  him 
the  spur. 

"Beware!"  cried  Conway  to  the  troopers  around  him,  as  he 
saw  this  action — "  the  man  is  desperate." 

He  himself  did  not  seem  to  value  the  caution  which  he  ex- 
pressed to  others.  He  dashed  forward  to  encounter  the  des- 
perate man,  his  broadsword  waving  above  his  head,  and  forming, 
in  their  sight,  the  crescent  emblem  of  his  followers.  With  loud 
cries  they  pressed  forward  after  his  footsteps  ;  but  the  splendid 
charger  which  Conway  bestrode,  allowed  them  no  chance  of  in- 
terposition. The  resolute  demeanor,  and  reckless  advance  of 
Conway,  probably  saved  his  life.  It  drew  the  precipitate  fire 
of  Watson  Gray,  and  probably  disordered  his  aim.  The  bullet 
shattered  the  epaulette  upon  Conway's  shoulder,  and  grazed 
the  flesh,  but  scarcely  to  inflict  a  wound.  Before  he  could  use 
the  second,  a  henchman  of  Conway's,  a  mere  boy,  rode  up,  and 
shivered  the  hand  which  grasped  it  by  a  shot,  almost  sent  at 
hazard,  from  a  single  and  small  pistol  which  he  carried.  In  an- 
other moment  the  sweeping  sabre  of  Conway  descended  upon 
the  neck  of  the  outlaw,  cutting  through  the  frail  resistance  of 
coat  and  collar,  and  almost  severing  the  head  from  the  shoulders. 
The  eyes  rolled  wildly  for  an  instant — the  lips  gasped,  and 
slightly  murmured,  and  then  the  insensible  frame  fell  heavily 
to  the  earth,  already  stiffened  in  the  silent  embrace  of  death. 
The  space  of  time  had  been  fearfully  short  between  his  own 
fate,  and  that  which  the  murderer  had  inflicted  upon  Brydone. 
His  reflections  upon  that  person,  may  justify  us  in  giving  those 
which  fell  from  the  lips  of  Clarence  Conway,  as  the  victim  was 
identified. 

"Watson  Gray  !"  said  he,  "a  bad  fellow,  but  a  great  scout. 
Next  to  John  Bannister*  there  was  not  one  like  him  on  the 


436  THE   SCOUT. 

Congaree.  But  he  was  a  wretch  —  a  bad,  bloody  wretch ;  — he's 
gone  to  a  dreadful  and  terrible  account.  Cover  him  up,  men,  as 
soon  as  you  have  searched  him.  Lieutenant  Monk,  attend  to 
this  man's  burial,  and  join  me  below.  We  must  see  what  he 
has  been  about  there.  You  say  two  pistol  shots  were  heard  ?" 

"  Two,  sir,  about  ten  minutes  apart." 

"  Such  a  man  as  Watson  Gray,  never  uses  firearms  without 
good  cause — we  must  search  and  see." 

Dividing  his  little  force,  Conway  gave"  the  order  to  "  trot," 
and  the  troop  was  soon  under  quick  motion,  going  over  the 
ground  which  they  so  recently  traversed.  The  search  was  keen, 
and,  as  we  may  suppose,  successful.  The  body  of  Brydone  and 
that  of  his  horse  were  found,  but,  as  he  was  unknown,  it  excited 
little  interest.  That  he  was  a  Black  Rider,  and  an  enemy,  was 
obvious  from  his  dress  ;  and  the  only  subject  of  marvel  was,  why 
Watson  Gray  should  murder  one  of  his  own  fraternity.  It  was 
midday  before  Clarence  Conway  took  up  the  line  of  march  for 
Middleton  barony,  and  this  mental  inquiry  was  one  for  which  he 
could  find  no  plausible  solution  until  some  time  after  he  had  ar- 
rived there.  Let  us  not  anticipate  his  arrival. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

BUCKLING   ON   ARMOR. 

IT  may  Teadily  be  supposed  that  the  disappearance  of  Watson 
Gray  caused  some  uneasiness  in  the  mind  of  his  principal ;  but 
when,  hour  after  hour  elapsed,  yet  brought  neither  sign  nor  word 
which  could  account  for  his  absence,  or  remedy  its  evil  conse- 
quences, the  uneasiness  of  the  outlaw  naturally  and  propor- 
tionally increased.  The  fearful  hour  was  speeding  onward  to 
its  crisis,  as  it  seemed,  with  more  than  the  wonted  rapidity  of 
time.  The  aspect  of  events  looked  black  and  threatening. 
Wounded  and  feeble,  wanting  in  that  agent  who,  in  his  own 
prostration,  was  the  eye,  and  the  wing,  and  the  arm,  of  his  re- 
solves, Edward  Morton  could  not  shake  off  the  gathering  clouds 


BUCKLING  ON  ARMOR.  437 

of  apprehension  which  hung  heavy  about  his  soul.  He  had 
risen  at  the  first  blushing  of  the  day,  and,  with  the  assistance  of 
a  servant,  contrived  to  put  on  his  garments.  The  sword  which 
he  was  scarcely  able  to  wield — certainly,  with  no  efficiency  — 
was  buckled  to  his  side; — but  his  chief  reliance,  in  the  event  of 
a  last  struggle,  lay  in  his  pistols,  of  which  an  extra  pair  had 
been  provided  by  Watson  Gray,  the  moment  he  discovered  the 
probable  danger  of  his  superior. 

As  the  day  advanced,  and  Gray  did  not  appear,  the  outlaw 
felt  it  necessary  to  make  those  preparations,  the  chief  duty  of 
which  now  promised  to  devolve  upon  him ;  and  with  some  diffi- 
culty, descending  to  the  lower  story  of  the  house,  he  proceeded 
to  drill  his  men  in  anticipation  of  the  worst.  He  had  already 
resolved  not  to  go  further,  unless  Gray  made  his  appearance  in 
season  and  counselled  the  measure.  He  had,  from  the  first,  been 
opposed  to  the  trial ;  though  he  could  not  but  acknowledge  that 
the  arrangement  had  been  most  favorable,  at  the  time,  which 
his  confederate  could  hope  to  make.  He  was  now  more  thor- 
oughly confirmed  than  ever  in  his  determination  to  keep  his 
defences,  and  convert  the  mansion  house  into  a  stronghold, 
which  he  would  surrender  only  with  his  life. 

The  surgeon,  Hillhouse,  was  present,  with  a  double  share  of 
resolution,  to  second  his  resolve.  The  picture  which  Watson 
Gray  had  judiciously  presented  to  his  mind,  the  night  before,  of 
the  sacking  of  his  various  wardrobe,  by  the  sable  mutineers,  had 
been  a  subject  of  sleepless  meditation  to  him  the  whole  night, 
and  had  imbued  him  with  a  bitter  disposition,  to  kill  and  destroy, 
all  such  savage  levellers  of  taste  and  fortune  as  should  cross  his 
path  or  come  within  shooting  distance  from  the  windows.  His 
person  was  decorated  with  more  than  usual  care  and  fastidious- 
ness that  morning.  He  wore  a  rich  crimson  trunk,  that  shone 
like  flame  even  in  the  darkened  apartments.  This  was  tapered 
off  with  stockings  of  the  softest  lilac ;  and  the  golden  buckles 
which  glittered  upon  his  shoes,  also  served  to  bring  "  a  strange 
brightness  to  the  shady  place."  His  coat,  worn  for  the  first 
time  since  he  had  reached  the  barony,  was  of  the  rich  uniform 
of  the  British  Guards.  Altogether,  Surgeon  Hillhouse  in  his 
present  equipments,  made  a  most  imposing  figure.  His  per- 


438  THE  SCOUT. 

son  was  not  bad,  though  his  face  was  monstrous  ugly ;  and 
he  possessed  a  leg  which  was  symmetry  itself.  He  measured 
at  annual  periods,  the  knee,  the  calf,  and  the  ankle,  and  by  a 
comparison  with  every  other  handsome  leg  in  the  army,  he  had 
been  able  to  satisfy  himself  that  his  was  the  perfect  standard. 
It  did  not  lessen  the  military  effect  of  his  appearance,  though 
somewhat  incongruous  with  his  display  in  other  respects,  that 
he  wore  a  common  belt  of  sable  strapped  about  his  waist,  in 
which  were  stuck  half  a  dozen  pistols  of  all  sizes.  He  had  a 
taste  in  this  weapon,  and  had  accumulated  a  moderate  assort- 
ment, most  of  which  were  richly  wrought  and  inlaid  with  bits 
of  embossed  plate,  of  gold  and  silver ;  carvings  and  decorations 
which  took  the  shapes  of  bird,  beast,  and  flower,  according  to 
the  caprice  or  fancy  of  their  owner ;  or,  it  may  be,  the  artist 
himself.  The  more  serious  and  stern  outlaw  met  this  display 
with  a  look  of  scorn  which  he  did  not  seek  to  suppress,  but 
which  the  fortunate  self-complaisance  of  the  other  did  not  suffer 
him  to  see. 

"  You  don't  seem,  Mr.  Hillhouse,"  he  observed,  as  they  met, 
"to  anticipate  much  trouble  or  danger  in  this  morning's  work." 

"  Ah  sir !  and  why  do  you  think  so  V  demanded  the  other 
with  some  curiosity. 

"  Your  garments  seem  better  adapted  for  the  ball-room  and 
the  dance,  than  for  a  field  of  blood  and  battle.  You  may  be 
shot,  and  scalped,  or  hung,  sir,  in  the  course  of  the  morning." 

"  True,  sir,  and  for  that  reason,  I  have  dressed  myself  in  this 
fashion.  The  idea  of  this  extreme  danger,  alone,  sir,  prompted 
me  to  this  display.  For  this  reason  I  made  my  toilet  with  ex- 
treme care.  I  consumed,  in  my  ablutions,  an  entire  section  of 
my  famous  Chinese  soap.  You  perceive,  sir,  in  the  language 
of  the  divine  Shakspere"  —  stroking  his  chin  complacently  as 
he  spoke— "'I  have  reaped  the  stubble  field  also — my  chin 
was  never  smoother ;  and,  in  the  conviction,  sir,  that  I  might 
be  called  upon  this  day,  to  make  my  last  public  appearance,  I 
have  been  at  special  pains  to  prepare  my  person  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage, for  the  inspection  of  the  fortunate  persons  who  will 
make  the  final  disposition  of  it.  To  die  with  dignity,  and  to 
appear  after  death  with  grace,  has  been  the  reflection  which  has 


BUCKLING  ON  ARMOR.  439 

occupied  my  mind  this  morning,  as  I  made  my  toilet.  My  med- 
itations were  necessarily  of  a  melancholy  complexion.  If  these 
rogues  are  to  inherit  my  wardrobe,  let  me  make  as  much  use 
of  it  as  I  can.  I  may  probably  secure  this  suit  to  myself  by 
dying  in  it  like  a  man." 

The  outlaw  scarcely  heard  these  forcible  reasons — certainly 
he  did  not  listen  to  them.  He  was  already  busy  in  disposing, 
to  the  best  advantage,  of  his  half  score  of  muskets.  The  house 
was  one  of  comparatively  great  strength.  It  was  of  brick,  built 
for  service,  and  had  been  more  than  once  defended  against  the 
assaults  of  the  Congarees.  With  an  adequate  force  it  might 
have  been  held  against  any  assailants,  unless  they  brought  ar- 
tillery. But  the  little  squad  of  Edward  Morton  was  wretchedly 
inadequate  to  its  defence,  even  against  the  small  force  of  Stock- 
ton. It  required  all  of  his  skill,  courage,  and  ingenuity,  to  make 
it  tolerably  secure.  He  now  more  than  ever  felt  the  absence  of 
Watson  Gray.  The  readiness  of  resource  which  that  wily  ruf- 
fian possessed,  would,  no  doubt,  have  been  productive  of  very 
important  assistance.  Even  if  the  garrison  could  hold  out 
against  assault,  they  could  not  hope  to  do  so  against  famine. 
The  provisions  of  the  plantation  were  already  at  the  mercy  of 
the  Black  Riders. 

The  outlaw  surveyed  his  prospects  with  sufficient  misgivings. 
They  were  deplorable  and  discouraging  enough.  But  he  never 
once  thought  of  faltering.  His  soul  felt  nothing  but  defiance. 
His  words  breathed  nothing  but  confidence  and  strength.  He 
laughed — he  even  laughed  with  scorn — when  Hillhouse  said 
something  of  a  capitulation  and  terms. 

"Terms,  sir!  ay,  we'll  give  and  take  terms — such  terms  as 
lie  at  the  point  of  these  bayonets,  and  can  be  understood  from 
the  muzzle  of  gun  and  pistol.  Terms,  indeed !  Why  do  you 
talk  of  terms,  sir,  when  we  can  beat  and  slay  the  whole  gang 
of  them  in  twenty  minutes !  Let  them  approach  and  give  us  a 
mark  at  all,  and  what  chance  can  they  have,  with  their  pistols 
only,  against  these  muskets  ?  Really,  Mr.  Hillhouse,  for  a  gen- 
tleman of  high  rank  in  his  majesty's  army,  I  am  surprised  that 
you  should  hold  such  language.  If  you  dread  the  result,  sir — 
you  are  at  liberty  to  leave  the  house  this  very  moment.  Go,  sir, 


440  THE   SCOUT. 

to  a  place  of  safety,  if  you  can  find  it ;  or  make  your  own  terms 
with  our  enemies,  as  you  or  they  please.  Try  it,  and  you'll  find 
that  your  fine  clothes  will  be  one  of  the  best  arguments,  for 
hanging  you  to  the  first  tree;  —  the  Black  Riders  have  long 
since  learned  that  the  finest  bird  is  to  be  first  plucked.  We 
shall  remain  where  we  are,  and  probably  inherit  your  wardrobe 
after  all." 

The  surgeon  was  abashed  and  confounded  for  the  moment. 
He  had  not  often  been  compelled  to  listen  to  such  language ; 
nor  did  the  outlaw  intend  it  so  much  for  the  ears  of  the  person 
whom  he  addressed  as  for  those  who  listened  around  him.  He 
knew  the  value  of  big  words  and  bluster,  in  a  time  of  doubt  and 
danger,  to  the  uninformed  and  vulgar  mind.  He  felt  that 
nothing  could  be  hoped  for,  at  the  hands  of  his  small  party,  if 
any  of  them  were  suffered  to  flinch  or  falter.  He  knew  the 
importance  of  all  that  he  himself  said  ;  but  the  surgeon  did  not 
once  suspect  it.  He  recovered  from  his  astonishment,  and,  after 
a  brief  delay,  his  wounded  pride  found  utterance. 

"  Really,  sir — Mr.  Conway — your  language  is  exceedingly 
objectionable.  I  shall  be  constrained  to  notice  it,  sir ;  and  to 
look  for  redress  at  your  hands  at  the  earliest  opportunity." 

"Any  time,  sir — now  —  when  you  please  —  only  don't  afflict 
me  with  your  apprehensions.  If  you  can  not  see,  what  is  clear 
enough  to  the  blindest  mule  that  ever  ploughed  up  a  plain  field, 
that  these  scoundrels  stand  no  sort  of  chance  against  us,  in  open 
assault — no  words  of  mine,  or  of  any  man,  can  make  you  wiser. 
Like  Hugely,  you  would  surrender,  I  suppose,  at  the  enforce- 
ment of  a  pine  log." 

A  hearty  laugh  of  the  soldiers  attested  the  inspiriting  influences 
which  they  had  imbibed  from  the  confident  bearing  and  words 
of  Morton,  and  their  familiarity  with  an  anecdote  which,  but  a 
little  time  before,  had  provoked  much  mirth  in  both  parties  at 
the  expense  of  a  provincial  officer,  in  the  British  army,  served 
to  increase  their  confidence.*  It  may  be  supposed  that  this 

*  Colonel  Rugely  had  command  of  a  British  stockade  near  Camden,  which 
was  garrisoned  by  an  hundred  men.  It  was  summoned  by  Colonel  William 
Washington.  "  Washington  was  without  artillery  ;  but  a  pine  log,  whfch  was 
ingeniously  hewn  and  arranged  so  as  to  resemble  a  field-piece,  enforced,  to  the 


BUCKLING   ON   ARMOR.  441 

burst  of  merriment  did  not  diminish  the  anger  of  Hillhouse  ;  but 
he  contented  himself  with  saying-  that  he  should  "  bide  his  time." 

"  You  are  right,  sir,  in  this  respect,"  said  Morton,  "  we  have 
neither  of  us  any  time  for  private  squabbles.  Bo  your  duty  man- 
fully to-day,  Mr.  Hillhouse,  and  if  we  survive  it,  I  shall  be  ready 
to  apologise  to  you  to-morrow,  or  give  you  whatever  satisfaction 
will  please  you  best.  But  now  to  work.  These  shutters  must 
be  closed  in  and  secured." 

The  lower  story  was  completely  closed  up  by  this  proceeding. 
The  shutters,  of  solid  oak,  were  fastened  within,  and,  ascending 
to  the  upper  story,  Morton  disposed  his  men  in  the  different 
apartments,  with  strict  warning  to  preserve  the  closest  watch 
from  the  windows,  at  every  point  of  approach.  Having  com- 
pleted his  disposition  of  the  defences,  he  requested  an  interview 
with  the  ladies  of  the  house,  which  was  readily  granted.  The 
outlaw  and  surgeon  were  accordingly  ushered  into  an  antecham- 
ber in  which,  amidst  the  stir  and  bustle  of  the  events  going  on 
below,  the  ladies  had  taken  refuge.  The  gentlemen  were  re- 
ceived with  kindness.  At  such  moments — moments  of  sudden 
peril  and  unexpected  alarm — the  human  ties  assert  their  supe- 
riority, over  the  forms  of  society  and  the  peculiar  habits  of  edu- 
cation, through  the  medium  of  our  fears  ;  and  even  the  suspicions 
which  the  ladies  might  have  had,  touching  the  character  of  Ed- 
ward Morton — whom  they  knew  only  as  Edward  Conway — 
and  the  contempt  which  they  felt  for  the  fopperies  of  Hillhouse, 
gave  way  entirely  before  the  pressing  and  mutual  necessities 
which  prevailed  to  the  probable  danger  of  the  whole. 

But,  in  truth,  the  appearance  of  the  outlaw,  at  that  moment 
of  his  own  superior  peril,  was  well  calculated  to  command  the 
admiration  even  of  those  who  loved  him  not.  Man  never  looks 
so  noble  as  when  he  contends  calmly  with  the  obvious  danger — 
when,  aware  of  all  its  worst  characteristics,  he  yet  goes  forth  to 
the  encounter,  with  a  stern  deliberate  purpose,  which  sustains 

commander  of  the  post,  the  propriety  of  surrendering-,  at  the  first  summons  of 
the  American  colonel.  This  harmless  piece  of  timber,  elevated  a  few  feet  from 
the  earth,  was  invested  by  the  apprehension  of  the  garrison  with  such  formida- 
ble power,  that  they  were  exceedingly  glad  to  find  a  prompt  acceptance  of  their 
submission." — History  of  South  Carolina,  p.  187. 

19* 


442  THE  SCOUT. 

him  unshrinking  to  the  last,  and  suffers  him,  at  no  moment,  to 
seem  palsied,  weak,  or  indecisive.  Edward  Morton  wore  the  as- 
pect of  this  firmness,  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies.  They  knew 
that  he  was  the  destined  victim  whom  the  Black  Riders  professed 
to  seek,  and  seek  only ; — they  knew  not  exactly  why — but  their 
conjecture,  naturally  enough,  in  the  absence  of  more  certain 
reasons — assumed  it  to  be  in  consequence  of  his  Americanism. 

Whatever  might  be  the  cause,  to  be  the  foe  of  the  Black 
Riders  was,  in  all  likelihood,  to  be  the  friend  of  virtue  and  the 
right ;  and  as  he  stood  before  them,  erect  for  the  first  time  after 
weeks  of  painful  sickness  and  prostration — more  erect  than 
ever — with  a  demeanor  that  did  not  presume  in  consequence  of 
his  situation — nor  challenge,  by  doubtful  looks  and  tremulous 
tones,  that  sympathy  which  might  well  be  asked  for,  but  never 
by,  "the  brave  man  struggling  with  the  storms  of  fate;" — he 
insensibly  rose  in  the  estimation  of  both,  as  his  person  seemed 
to  rise  nobly  and  commandingly  in  their  sight. 

His  voice  was  gentle  and  mournful  —  in  this,  perhaps,  he  did 
not  forbear  the  exercise  of  some  of  his  habitual  hypocrisy.  He 
did  not  forget  for  a  moment  that  the  keen  glances  of  Flora  Mid- 
dleton  were  upon  him ;  and  like  most  -  men  of  the  world,  he 
never  forgot  that  policy  which  casts  about  it  those  seeds  which, 
as  they  ripen  into  fruit — whatever  the  degree  of  probability — 
the  same  hand  may  gather  which  has  sown. 

"  Ladies,  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  that  my  presence  has  brought 
danger  to  your  house." 

The  venerable  lady  replied,  promptly  :  — 

"  I  trust,  Mr.  Conway,  that,  with  the  assistance  of  your  fol- 
lowers, you  will  be  able  to  keep  the  danger  from  it." 

"  Alas,  madam,  I  must  not  disguise  from  you  the  truth  :  we 
are  as  one  to  ten  only ;  we  may  slay  many  of  tile  assailants,  but 
if  they  are  led  by  ordinary  courage,  they  may  eat  through  these 
walls  in  our  spite.  I  have  one  hope  —  that  Watson  Gray,  who 
left  the  house  last  night,  will  return  in  season,  with  a  sufficient 
force  to  baffle  them  in  their  attempts.  All  that  can  be  done 
now  will  be  to  keep  off  the  moment  of  danger  —  to  parry  for  a 
while,  and  protract  as  long  as  we  can,  the  storm  which  will 
come  at  last," 


BUCKLING  ON  ARMOR.  443 

"  Mr.  Conway,  I  would  not  disparage  your  judgment  or  your 
valor ;  but  the  late  General  Middleton,  when  scarcely  at  your 
years,  beat  off  three  hundred  Congarees  from  the  very  threshold 
of  this  dwelling." 

The  outlaw  modestly  replied*  with  a  bow  of  the  head :  — 

"  We  will  do  what  we  can  do,  Mrs.  Middleton ;  but  we  have 
a  poor  squad  of  ten  men  in  all,  not  including  Mr.  Hillhouse  and 
myself.  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Hillhouse  will  do  his  duty  as 
becomes  him " 

"  As  becomes  a  gentleman  fighting  in  the  presence  of  the 
fairest  lady " 

Morton  continued  his  speech  in  season  to  interrupt  some  stilt- 
ish  common-place  of  the  surgeon,  which  could  only  have  been 
disgusting  to  .the  ladies. 

"  As  for  myself,  you  know  my  condition.  I  can  die — I  need 
not,  I  trust,  say  that,  no  man  could  feel  it  hard  to  do  so,  under 
such  circumstances  as  prevail  over  us  at  present — but  I  have 
little  strength  to  make  my  death  expensive  to  our  enemies. 
There  is  one  thing,  Mrs.  Middleton,  that  I  have  deferred  speak- 
ing to  the  last." 

He  hesitated,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  sadly  for  a  moment 
upon  the  face  of  Flora,  then,  as  he  met  her  glance,  they  were 
instantly  averted. 

"  What  is  that,  sir  ?"  demanded  the  old  lady. 

"  It  is  this,  madam :  there  is  one  proceeding  by  which  it  is 
yet  possible  to  avert  from  your  dwelling  the  strife  which  will 
shortly  threaten  it." 

"  In  God's  name,  sir,  let  it  be  resorted  to " 

"If  it  be  right — if  it  be  proper,  only,  mother,"  cried  Flora, 
earnestly,  putting  her  hand  upon  the  wrist  of  her  grandmother. 

"  Certainly — surely,  my  child,"  was  the  reply.  "  Peace  and 
safety  are  to  be  purchased  only  by  just  conduct.  Speak,  Mr. 
Conway,  what  is  the  alternative  ]" 

"  Professedly,  madam,  these  ruffians  seek  me  alone,  of  all  this 
household.  I  am  the  sole  object  of  their  hate — the  victim 
whom  they  have  singled  out  for  their  special  vengeance.  Were 
I  in  their  hands " 

"  Surely,  Mr.  Conway,  you  would  not  think  so  meanly  of  my 


444  THE   SCOUT. 

mother  and  myself,'*  was  the  hasty  interruption  of  Flora  Middle- 
ton,  "as  to  fancy  that  we  could  be  pleased  at  your  giving  up 
any  security,  however  partial,  such  as  our  house  affords  you, 
because  of  the  possible  annoyance  to  which  we  might  be  sub- 
jected on  account  of  this  banditti.  I  trust  that  you  will  be 
able  to  defend  the  house,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  do  so  to 
the  last." 

The  outlaw  seemed  to  catch  fire  at  the  manner  of  the  gen- 
erous girl.  Her  own  flashing  eyes  were  full  of  a  flame  to 
impart  enthusiasm  to  the  dullest  spirit ;  and  he  exclaimed,  with 
a  more  genuine  feeling  of  zeal  than  was  usual  with  him  :  — 

"  And,  by  heavens,  I  will !  You  have  stifled  the  only  doubts 
which  I  had  of  the  propriety  of  making  your  house  my  castle. 
I  need  not  say  to  you  that  the  hostility  of  these  scoundrels  to  me 
is,  perhaps,  little  more  than  a  pretence.  Even  were  I  given  up  to 
them,  and  in  their  hands,  they  would  probably  sack  your  dwel- 
ling. They  are  just  now,  I  suspect,  released  from  nearly  all 
restraint  and  subjection,  and  about  to  fly  the  country.  Lord 
Rawdon  has  gone,  or  is  on  his  way  below,  by  another  route, 
with  all  his  forces ;  and  the  men  of  Sumter,  Lee,  and  Marion, 
are  pressing  at  the  heels  of  his  lordship.  Perhaps  I  speak  with 
literal  accuracy  when  I  say  that  your  safety  depends  on  mine. 
If  I  fail  to  make  good  the  house  against  these  Black  Riders — 
you  already  know  their  character — I  tremble  for  you !  Your 
safety  shall  be  no  less  in  my  thoughts,  during  this  conflict,  than 
my  own ;  and  I  repeat,  once  more,  my  readiness  to  die  before 
outrage  and  violence  shall  cross  your  threshold." 

"We  thank  you,  sir — from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts,  we 
thank  you,  Mr.  Conway " 

Morton  bowed,  as  he  interrupted  the  strain  of  feminine  ac- 
knowledgment :  — 

"  Let  me  now  beg  you  to  seek  the  garret ;  there  you  will  be 
in  tolerable  safety.  If  we  do  not  again  meet,  do  me  the  justice 
to  believe  that  I  spared  neither  limb  nor  life  in  your  behalf.  I 
may  fall,  but  I  will  not  falter." 

"  God  be  with  you,  Mr.  Conway !"  was  the  ejaculation  of 
both  ladies.  A  blush  tinged  the  cheek  of  the  outlaw — a  trem- 
ulous emotion  passed  through  his  veins.  When,  before,  had 


BUCKLING  ON  ARMOR.  445 

the  pure  of  tlie  purer  sex  uttered  such  an  invocation  in  his 
behalf? 

"  Can  it  he  an  omen  of  ill,"  —  such  was  his  reflection  —  "that 
it  is  spoken,  as  it  would  seem,  in  the  last  moment  of  my 
career  ?" 

"  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Middleton  ;  I  thank  you" — to  Flora,  hut 
he  did  not  speak  her  name.  The  direction  of  his  eye  indicated 
the  person  to  whom  he  spoke.  His  look  and  air  were  not  una- 
droit.  He  still  remembered  his  policy ;  and  Flora  Middleton 
fancied,  as  she  turned  away,  that  she  had  not  often  seen  a  no- 
bler-looking personage.  The  contrast  between  himself  and  Mr. 
Hillhouse,  perhaps,  helped  to  strengthen  this  impression.  A 
grave  monkey  is,  of  all  objects,  the  most  lugubrious,  and  the 
plain  statements  of  the  outlaw  had  suddenly  made  the  surgeon 
very  grave.  He  really  did  not  imagine  that  things  were  in  so 
deplorable  a  condition.  Thinking  over  them  rendered  him  for- 
getful of  his  fine  sayings,  and  the  attempt  which  lie  made  to 
throw  some  pathos  into  his  parting  address  to  the  ladies,  was 
ridiculous  without  being  easy,  and  elaborate  and  strained  with- 
out being  free  or  graceful.  When  they  had  gone,  Mr.  Hillhouse 
found  a  more  ready  tongue,  and  once  more  began  to  intimate 
the  propriety  of  terms  and  a  flag  of  truce. 

In  India,  once,  an  affair  of  the  Sepoys — very  much  like  the 
present — a  sort  of  mutiny  and  insurrection — " 

"  No  more  of  this  nonsense,"  said  Morton,  with  the  old  habit 
of  command  which  belonged  to  the  captain  of  the  fierce  ban- 
ditti by  which  he  was  now  threatened.  "  It's  time,  Mr.  Hill- 
house,  to  be  a  man,  if  you  ever  hope  to  be  like  one.  Do  you 
hear  that  trumpet,  sir?  It  is  a  summons — it  opens  the  busi- 
ness. You  talk  of  terms  and  overtures — how  do  you  like  the 
idea  of  making  them  from  the  balcony  of  yonder  porch  ?  What ! 
it  does  not  please  you  1  Yet  it  must  be  done.  Musketeers, 
to  the  windows  !  Cover  the  approach  to  the  porch,  and  shoot 
as  I  bid  —  see  that  no  man  comes  within  pistol-shot.  I,  myself, 
will  parley  with  these  scoundrels. 

The  door  of  the  great  passage-way  which  divided  the  dwel- 
ling centrally  was  thrown  open,  and  the  outlaw  presented  him- 
self in  the  balcony  to  the  eyes  of  the  Black  Eiders,  who  had 


446  THE  SCOUT. 

assembled,  some  thirty  or  forty  in  number,  in  detached  groups, 
about  fifty  yards  from  the  building.  A  yell  of  ferocious  exulta- 
tion hailed  his  appearance  from  below,  and  attested  the  excited 
feelings  of  malicious  hate  with  which  they  had  been  wrought 
upon  to  regard  their  ancient  leader. 


CHAPTER   XLL 

THE    SIEGE    A^JD   STORM. 

A  SMILE  of  mixed  bitterness  and  derision  passed  over  the  lips 
of  the  outlaw,  as  he  hearkened  to  the  rude  but  mighty  uproar. 

"  Dogs  !"  he  muttered,  "  there  was  a  time  when  I  would  have 
made  you  crouch  beneath  the  lash  to  your  proper  attitude!  — 
and  I  may  do  so  yet.  I  am  not  wholly  powerless  even  now !" 

As  they  shouted,  an  involuntary  movement  was  made  by 
several  among  them.  They  rushed  toward  him,  as  if  their 
purpose  had  been  to  approach  him  with  determined  violence. 
Several  of  them  were  dismounted,  and  these,  waving  their  pis- 
tols aloft,  were  evidently  disposed  to  bring  themselves  within 
the  necessary  distance  which  should  permit  of  the  certain  use 
of  their  weapon.  But  Morton,  in  the  intervals  of  their  clamor, 
suffered  them  to  hear  his  brief,  stern  command  to  the  musketeers, 
whom  they  might  behold  at  the  windows,  to  be  in  readiness  and 
watchful. 

"  Shoot  down  the  first  scoundrel  that  advances  with  arms. 
Take  good  aim  and  spare  none,  unless  I  bid  ye." 

This  order  produced  a  pause  in  their  career.  Some  incerti- 
tude seemed  to  prevail  among  them,  and,  at  length,  Morton 
distinguished,  beneath  a  tree  in  the  distance,  the  persons  of 
Stockton,  Darcy,  and  two  others,  who  were  evidently  busy  in 
the  work  of  consultation.  He  himself  quietly  took  his  seat 
upon  one  of  the  benches  in  the  balcony,  and  patiently  waited 
the  result  of  this  deliberation.  His  pistols,  broad-mouthed  and 
long,  of  the  heaviest  calibre,  were  ready  in  his  hand  and  belt, 
and  all  well  loaded  with  a  brace  of  balls. 


THE  SIEGE  AND   STORM.  447 

Meanwhile,  his  resolute  appearance,  placid  manner,  and  the 
indifference  which  his  position  displayed,  were  all  provocative 
of  increased  clamors  and  commotion  among  the  crowd.  They 
were  evidently  lashing  themselves  into  fury,  as  does  the  hull 
when  he  desires  the  conflict  for  which  he  is  not  yet  sufficiently 
blinded  and  maddened.  Cries  of  various  kinds,  but  all  intended 
to  stimulate  their  hostility  to  him,  were  studiously  repeated  by 
the  emissaries  of  his  successor.  Not  the  least  influential  were 
those  which  dilated  upon  the  spoils  to  be  gathered  from  the 
contemplated  sack  of  the  barony  —  an  argument  which  had 
most  probably  been  more  potent  than  any  other  in  seducing 
them  away  from  their  fealty  to  the  insubordinate  desires  of 
Stockton. 

Morton  watched  all  these  exhibitions  without  apprehension, 
though  not  without  anxiety ;  and  when  he  turned,  and  gave  a 
glance  to  his  few  followers  within  the  house  —  drilled  men,  stub- 
born and  inflexible,  who  could  easier  die,  under  the  command 
to  do  so,  than  obey  the  impulse  to  flight  without  hearing  the 
"  retreat"  sounded,  but  who  had  no  other  resources  of  mind  and 
character  beyond  the  dogged  resolution  taught  by  their  military 
life  —  his  heart  misgave  him.  He  felt  what  he  himself  might 
do  in  command  of  the  Black  Riders  against  such  defenders  as 
he  then  possessed ;  and  he  did  not  deceive  himself  as  to  the 
probable  result.  One  hope  yet  remained.  It  was  that  Wat- 
son Gray  was  somewhere  busy  in  his  behalf.  His  eyes  often 
stretched  beyond  the  park,  in  the  direction  of  the  high  road,  in 
the  vain  hope  to  see  his  confederate,  with  some  hastily-gathered 
recruits,  marching  to  his  rescue.  At  that  very  moment  Gray 
was  quivering  in  the  few  brief  agonies  of  death,  which  he 
endured  under  the  sabre  of  Clarence  Conway. 

The  deliberations  of  Stockton  and  his  confederates  were  soon 
at  an  end,  and  with  them  the  doubts  of  the  outlaw.  Stockton 
himself  made  his  appearance  in  the  foreground,  bearing  a  white 
handkerchief  fastened  to  a  sapling.  His  offensive  weapons  he 
ostentatiously  spread  out  upon  the  earth,  at  some  distance  from 
the  mansion,  when  he  came  fairly  into  sight.  His  course,  which 
was  intended  to  inspire  confidence  in  himself  among  his  follow- 
ers, had  been  dictated  by  Darcy. 


448  THE   SCOUT. 

"  They  must  see  that  you're  as  bold  as  Ned  Morton.  He 
comes  out  in  full  front,  and  you  must  do  no  less.  You  must  go 
to  meet  him.  It  will  look  well  among  the  men." 

There  were  some  misgivings  in  Stockton's  mind'  as  to  the 
probable  risk  which  he  incurred ;  nor  was  Darcy  himself  en- 
tirely without  them.  Morton  they  knew  to  be  desperate ;  and 
if  he  could  conjecture  their  intentions  toward  him,  they  could 
very  well  understand  how  gladly  he  would  avail  himself  of  the 
appearance  of  Stockton  to  extinguish  the  feud  in  his  blood. 
The  idea,  in  fact,  crossed  the  mind  of  Morton  himself. 

"That  scoundrel!" — he  muttered  as  Stockton  approached 
him — "  is  the  cause  of  all.  Were  he  out  of  the  way — and  a 
single  shot  does  it !  — but,  no  !  no  !  —  he  has  put  down  his  arms ; 
and  then  there's  that  base  scoundrel  Darcy  in  the  background. 
"Were  I  to  shoot  Stockton,  he  would  bring  out  another  of  these 
blood-hounds  to  fill  his  place.  I  should  gain  nothing  by  it. 
Patience  !  Patience  !  I  must  bide  my  time,  and  wait  for  the 
turn  of  the  die." 

Meanwhile,  Stockton  advanced,  waving  aloft  his  symbol  of 
peace.  Morton  rose  at  his  approach,  and  went  forward  to  the 
railing  of  the  balcony. 

"Well," — he  demanded — "for  what  purpose  does  Lieutenant 
Stockton  come  ?" 

"  Captain  Stockton,  if  you  please.  He  comes  to  know  if  you 
are  ready  to  deliver  yourself  up  for  trial  by  the  troop,  as  was 
agreed  upon  by  Watson  Gray  yesterday." 

"  Let  Watson  Gray  answer  for  himself,  Captain  or  Lieutenant 
Stockton.  He  will  probably  be.^upon  your  backs  with  Coffin's 
cavalry  in  twenty  minutes.  For  me,  sirrah — hear  the  only  an- 
swer I  make.  I  bid  you  defiance ;  and  warn  you  now  to  get 
to  your  covert  with  all  expedition.  You  shall  have  five  minutes 
to  return  to  your  confederates;  if  you  linger  after  that  time  — 
ay,  or  any  of  your  crew — you  shall  die  like  dogs.  Away  !" 

The  retort  of  Stockton  was  that  of  unmeasured  abuse.  A 
volume  of  oaths  and  execrations  burst  from  his  lips  ;  but  Morton 
resuming  his  seat,  cried  to  the  musketeers  — 

"  Attention — make  ready — take  aim !" 

Enough  was  effected,  without  making  necessary  the  final 


THE  SIEGE   AND   STORM.  449 

command,  to  "  fire."  Stockton  took  to  his  heels,  in  most  undig- 
nified retreat ;  and,  stumbling  before  he  quite  regained  the  shel- 
ter of  the  wood,  fell,  head  foremost,  and  was  stretched  at  full 
length  along  the  earth,  to  the  merriment  of  some  and  the  vexa- 
tion of  others  among  his  comrades. 

The  fury  of  the  conspirator  was  increased  by  this  event ;  and 
he  proceeded,  with  due  diligence,  to  commence  the  leaguer.  'His 
corps  were  suddenly  commanded  to  disappear  from  the  open 
ground ;  and  when  Edward  Morton  saw  them  again,  they  were 
in  detached  parties,  preserving  cover  as  well  as  they  could, 
along  the  edges  of  the  park,  the  avenue,  a  small  thicket  of  sas- 
safras and  cedar  that  lay  along  the  northern  skirts  of  the  man- 
sion-house, and  such  of  the  outhouses  and  domestic  offices,  as 
could  bring  them  near  enough  to  act  upon  the  defenders  without 
exposure  of  themselves. 

The  body  thus  distributed  was  formidably  numerous  when 
compared  with  that  of  Morton.  His  estimate  made  them  little 
less  than  sixty  men.  Immediately  in  front,  though  beyond  the 
sure  reach  of  musketry,  Stockton,  himself,  prepared  to  take  his 
stand,  surrounded  by  some  half  dozen  of  his  troop ;  and  among 
these,  to  the  increased  annoyance  of  Morton,  he  saw  one  who 
uuslung  a  rifle  from  his  shoulder.  At  this  sight  he  at  once  with- 
drew from  the  balcony,  secured  the  door,  and  commanded  his 
musketeers  to  sink  from  sight,  and  avoid  unnecessary  exposure. 
The  warning  was  just  in  season.  In  the  very  instant  while  he 
spoke  the  glass  was  shattered  above  his  o\vn  head,  and  the  sharp, 
clear  sound  which  accompanied  the  event  attested  the  peculiar 
utterance  of  the  rifle.  • 

"  A  little  too  much  powder,  or  a  young  hand,"  said  Morton 
coolly.  "  Give  me  your  musket,  one  of  you?" 

He  took  his  place  at  the  window,  detached  the  bayonet  from 
the  muzzle  of  the  gun,  and  handed  it  back  to  the  soldier. 

"But  for  the  steel" — meaning  the  bayonet — "the  smoothr- 
bore  would  be  a  child's  plaything  against  that  rifle.     But  I  have 
made  a  musket  tell  at  a  hundred  yards,  and  may  again.     We 
must  muzzle  that  rifle  if  we  can." 

The  gun  was  scarcely  lifted  to  the  eyes  of  the  speaker  before 
its  dull,  heavy,  roar  was  heard,  awakening  all  the  echoes  of  the 


450  THE  SCOUT. 

snrrounding  woods.  The  men  rushed  to  the  window,  and  as  the 
smoke  lifted,  they  perceived  that  the  party  of  Stockton  was  dis- 
persed, while  one  man  stood,  leaning,  as  if  in  an  attitude  of  suf- 
fering, against  a  tree.  The  rifle,  however,  appeared  in  another 
hand  at  some  little  distance  off.  Morton  shook  his  head  with 
dissatisfaction,  as  he  recollected  that  while  there  were  fifty  men 
in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy,  to  whom  the  rifle  was  a  familiar 
weapon,  to  disarm  one,  or  a  dozen,  was  to  do  little  or  nothing 
for  his  own  and  for  the  safety  of  his  party.  In  a  few  moments 
after,  sudden  cries  and  a  discharge  of  firearms  from  the  opposite 
quarter  of  the  building  betrayed  the  beginning  of  the  strife 
where  Mr.  Hillhouse  commanded. 

"  Keep  as  well  covered  as  you  can,  men ;  but  watch  well 
that  they  do  not  close  in  with  you.  You  are  but  twelve  feet 
above  them,  and  at  that  distance  a  pistol  is  quite  as  dangerous 
as  a  musket.  I  leave  you  for  an  instant  only,  to  look  at  the 
rear." 

There,  he  found  Hillhouse,  doing  his  duty  as  bravely  as  if  he 
had  no  fine  uniform  at  hazard. 

"  You  take  a  needless  risk,"  said  Morton,  as  he  beheld  him 
flashing  one  of  his  pretty,  but  trifling  weapons,  at  the  invaders, 
and  exposing,  the  while,  his  entire  person  to  their  aim.  "  There 
will  be  time  enough  for  that  when  they  are  pressing  through 
the  breach." 

"  They  are  at  it  now,"  said  the  other,  with  a  momentary  fbr- 
getfulness  of  all  his  circuitous  phraseologies.  "They've 'got 
ladders,  and  are  trying  to  mount." 

"Indeed!"  cried  the  outlaw,  drawing  his  sabre  from  the 
sheath,  and  pushing  Hillhouse  asiTO,  with  a  seeming  forgetful- 
ness  of  his  own  wounds  and  infirmities.  He  approached  the 
window,  and  saw  the  truth  of  the  surgeon's  representations.  A 
squad  of  the  Black  Riders  had,  indeed,  pressed  forward  to  the 
wall  sufficiently  nigh  to  plant  against  it,  the  rack,  which  they 
had  taken  from  the  stables ;  and  which  furnished  them  a  solid 
and  sufficient  ladder  to  carry  up  two  men  abreast.  Hillhouse, 
in  his  haste  had  suffered  the  four  musketeers  who  had  been  al 
lowed  him,  for  the  defence  of  the  rear,  to  fire  simultaneously, 
and,  in  the  interval  required  by  them  to  reload  their  pieces,  the 


. "    THE   SIEGE   AND   STORM.  451 

ladder  had  been  planted,  and  half  a  dozen  sable  forms  were  al- 
ready darting  upward,  upon  its  rungs. 

"  Reload,  instantly  !"  Morton  cried  to  the  musketeers.  "  Keep 
your  small  pistols  for  close  conflict,  Mr.  Hillhouse — they  are  fit 
for  nothing  better." 

The  now  cool,  observing  outlaw,  receded  a  moment  from  the 
window,  while  a  blaze  of  pistol-shot  from  without,  shivered  the 
glass.  He  awaited  this  discharge,  only,  to  advance,  and  with 
better  aim,  to  level  a  brace  of  pistols  at  the  same  moment, 
among  his  foes,  just  when  the  ladder  was  most  darkened,  and 
trembling,  with  their  forms. 

Of  the  foremost  assailants,  when  the  broad  muzzles  met  their 
glance,  one  dashed  resolutely  forward  up  the  ladder,  but  received 
the  bullet  through  his  brain  and  tumble^ headlong  backward; 
while  the  other,  with  less  audacity,  endeavoring  to  retreat,  was 
forced  onward  by  those  behind  him.  He  had  the  alternative 
only,  of  throwing  himself  over,  which  he  did  at  the  risk  of  a 
broken  neck ;  and  the  bullets  of  the  remaining  pistol,  which 
Morton  had  drawn  from  his  belt,  were  expended  upon  the  rest 
of  the  scaling  party,  by  whom  they  were  utterly  unexpected. 

This  discharge  had  the  effect  of  clearing  the  ladder  for  an 
instant ;  and  Morton,  commanding  two  of  the  musketeers,  who 
had  now  reloaded,  to  keep  the  enemy  at  a  distance,  by  a  close 
watch  from  an  adjoining  window,  endeavored,  with  the  aid  of 
the  remaining  two,  to  draw  the  ladder  up,  and  into  the  window 
against  which  it  rested.  But  the  weight  of  the  massive  frame 
was  infinitely  beyond  their  strength ;  and  the  outlaw  contented 
himself  with  cutting  awayjhe  rungs,  which  formed  its  steps, 
with  his  sabre,  as  far  as  hiSParm  could  reach.  He  had  not  fin- 
ished this  labor  ere  he  was  summoned  to  the  front.  There,  the 
enemy  had  also  succeeded  in  drawing  the  fire  of  the  musketeers ; 
and  then,  closing  in,  had  effected  a  permanent  lodgment  beneath 
the  porch  below. 

This  was  a  disaster.  Under  the  porch  they  were  most  effec- 
tually sheltered  from  any  assault  from  above,  and  could  remain 
entirely  out  of  sight,  unless  they  themselves  determined  other- 
wise. How  many  of  them  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  this  cover, 
could  not  be  said  by  the  soldiers.  Their  conjecture,  however, 


452  THE  SCOUT. 

represented  it  at  ten  at  least — a  force  fully  equal  to  that  which 
was  engaged  in  the  defence. 

The  brow  of  Morton  grew  darker  as  he  discovered  this  cir- 
cumstance. The  net  of  the  fates  was  evidently  closing  around 
him  fast ;  and,  for  a  moment,  he  gazed  anxiously  over  the  dis- 
tant stretch  of  the  road,  in  the  fond  hope  to  see  Watson  Gray 
riding  in  to  his  succor.  But  he  turned  away  in  hopelessness  at 
last.  His  despondency  did  not,  however,  lead  to  any  relaxation 
of  his  courage,  or  of  that  desperate  determination,  which  he  en- 
tertained, to  make  the  fight  as  terrible  to  his  foes  as  their  hos- 
tility threatened  to  be  terrible  to  him.  A  momentary  cessation 
of  the  strife  appeared  to  have  taken  place.  The  outlaws,  who 
were  beneath  the  balcony,  remained  perfectly  quiescent. 

"  They  can  do  nothing  there,  unless  we  let  them.  Now,  men, 
do  you  keep  your  arms  ready.  Throw  away  no  shot  at  the 
cracking  of  a  pistol.  What  should  it  matter  to  you  if  the  fools 
snap  their  puppies  all  day  at  a  distance  of  fifty  yards.  Let  no 
more  of  them  join  these  below  the  porch,  if  you  can  help  it — 
let  none  of  these  get  away  if  bullets  can  stop  their  flight ;  but 
do  not  all  of  you  fire  at  once.  Keep  one  half  of  your  muskets 
always  in  reserve  for  the  worst." 

While  giving  these  instructions,  Morton  was  prepared  in  get- 
ting his  own  weapons  in  readiness.  The  strife  once  begun,  with 
the  loss  of  men  to  the  assailants,  could  not,  he  well  knew,  come 
to  an  indefinite  or  sudden  conclusion.  There  was  to  be  more  of 
it,  and  his  chief  apprehensions  now  arose  from  the  party  which 
had  found  lodgment  under  the  portico  below.  To  the  lower 
story  he  despatched  one  of  his  soMiers,  whom  he  instructed  to 
remain  quiet,  in  the  under  passa^ps  of  the  house,  in  order  to 
make  an  early  report  of  any  movements  which  might  take  place 
in  that  quarter. 

He  had  scarcely  adopted  this  precaution  before  the  clamors  of 
battle  were  again  renewed  in  the  part  where  Hillhouse  was  sta- 
tioned. Twenty  shots  were  fired  on  both  sides,  without  inter- 
mission, in  as  many  seconds,  and,  in  the  midst  of  all,  a  deep 
groan  and  the  fall  of  a  heavy  body  in  the  adjoining  room,  struck 
cold  to  the  heart  of  Morton.  He  could  ill  afford  to  lose  any  one 
of  his  small  array.  He  hurried  to  the  scene  of  operations,  and 


THE   SIEGE   AND   STORM.  453 

found  that  one  of  the  soldiers  had  fallen.  He  still  lived,  but 
the  wound  was  in  his  bosom ;  and  a  hurried  inspection  showed 
it  to  be  from  the  fatal  rifle.  The  ragged  orifice,  wrought  by  the 
peculiar  revolutions  of  the  deadly  twist,  was  large  enough  to 
have  received  a  small  fowl  egg.  The  dying  man  looked  up  to 
the  outlaw,  as  if  to  ask  if  there  was  any  hope.  So  Morton  un- 
derstood the  appealing  inquiry  in  his  eyes,  and  he  answered  it 
with  soldierly  frankness. 

"  Make  your  peace  with  God,  my  good  fellow ;  it's  all  over 
with  you.  You'll  be  dead  in  five  minutes." 

The  man  groaned  once,  shivered  fearfully,  then  turned  upon 
his  face.  His  arms  were  once  stretched  out — his  fingers  en- 
deavored to  grasp  the  floor,  then  relaxed,  then  stiffened,  and  he 
lay  unconscious  of  the  rest.  He  was  dead.  Morton  stepped 
over  his  body  and  took  a  hurried  glance  at  the  window. 

"We  have  shot  three  of  them,"  said  Hillhouse. 

"  Would  it  were  thirty  !  But  all  will  not  do.  Are  you  loaded, 
men,  and  ready  ?" 

"  Yes  !"  was  the  answer  of  all. 

"  Then  keep  ready,  but  keep  out  of  sight.  Wait  till  they 
mount  the  ladder,  expend  no  more  shot,  but  rely  on  the  push  of 
the  bayonet.  There  are  four  of  you,  and  they  have  but  the  one 
ladder.  The  rifle  can  not  be  used  while  they  are  on  it,  and  at 
no  other  time  need  you  show  yourselves." 

Such  were  the  hurried  directions  of  the  outlaw,  which  were 
interrupted  by  the  renewal  of  the  conflict.  Once  more  they 
were  upon  the  ladder,  but,  this  time,  the  clamors  arose  also  in 
front.  The  attack  was  simultaneous  in  both  quarters. 

"  Oh,  for  twenty  muskets, *but  twenty,"  —  cried  th^now  thor- 
oughly aroused  Morton,  as  he  made  his  way  once^fore  to  the 
little  squad  which  he  had  left  in  front — "  and  dearly  should  they 
pay  for  this  audacity  !  Nay,  if  I  only  had  my  own  strength  !" 
he  murmured,  as  he  leaned,  half  fainting,  against  the  door  lintel 
in  the  passage. 

A  new  assault  from  another  quarter,  aroused  him  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  increasing  dangers,  and  stimulated  him  anew 
with  the  strength  to  meet  it.  The  thunders  of  an  axe  were 
heard  against  the  lower  door  of  the  entrance,  and  from  the  por- 
tico where  the  party  had  previously  found  a  lodgment. 


454  THE   SCOUT. 

"  This  was  what  I  feared  !  The  trial,  the  danger,  is  here  at 
last !  But  the  game  is  one  at  which  both  of  us  may  do  mischief. 
I  must  be  there  to  meet  them.  Heaven  send  that  Stockton 
may  be  the  first  to  find  entrance !" 

The  soldier  now  appeared  from  below  giving  him  the  infor- 
mation, which  he  no  longer  needed,  of  the  dangers  that  threat- 
ened from  that  quarter.  The  cheering  reply  of  Morton  sent 
him  down  again. 

•'  Ay,  ay,  back  to  your  post !  You  shall  have  help  enough 
before  they  get  in — before  you  need  it." 

From  the  upper  part  of  the  house  he  drew  all  the  soldiers 
with  the  exception  of  three.  One  of  these  kept  his  place  in  the 
front,  the  other  two  in  the  rear,  where  the  attempt  had  been 
made  to  force  an  entrance  by  means  of  the  ladder.  These  sta- 
tions were  left  under  the  direction  of  the  surgeon.  The  greater 
danger  was  now  Jbelow.  He  considered  the  efforts  of  those 
above  to  be  feints  simply. 

"  Mr.  Hillhouse,  you  have  only  to  be  wary.  Your  two  bay- 
onets, with  your  own  pistols,  will  keep  doAvn  all  your  enemies. 
But,  should  you  apprehend  otherwise,  draw  the  musket  from 
the  front  of  the  house  to  your  assistance.  There  is  perhaps  less 
likelihood  of  assault  from  that  quarter.  Below  the  struggle 
must  be  made  hand  to  hand.  The  passage  is  narrow,  and  six 
stout  men  may  be  able  to  keep  it  against  twenty.  Farewell,  sir 
— be  firm  —  I  may  never  see  you  again." 

The  surgeon  had  some  tender  philosophy,  gleaned  from  his 
usual  vocabulary  of  common-places,  to  spend,  even  at  such  a 
moment,  and  Morton  left  him  speaking  it. 

He  hurried  down  stairs  with  the  six  soldiers,  whom  he  sta- 
tioned in  the  passage-way,  but  a  little  in  the  back-ground,  in 
order  that  they  should  not  only  escape  any  hurt  from  the  flying 
fragments  of  the  open  door  as  it  should  be  hewn  asunder,  but 
that  a  sufficient  number  of  the  banditti  might  be  allowed  to  pen- 
etrate and  crowd  the  opening.  Meanwhile  the  strokes  of  the 
axe  continued  with  little  interval.  The  door  was  one  of  those 
ancient,  solid  structures  of  oak,  doubled  and  plated  with  ribs 
which,  in  our  day,  might  almost  be  employed  for  beams  and 
rafters.  It  had  been  constructed  with  some  reference  to  a  siege 


THE   SIEGE   AND   STORM.  455 

from  foes  who  used  no  artillery ;  and  its  strength,  though  it  did 
not  baffle,  yet  breathed  not  a  few  of  the  assailants,  before  it 
yielded  to  the  final  application  of  the  axe.  As  the  splinters 
flew  around  them,  Morton  wiped  the  heavy  and  clammy  clews 
from  his  forehead.  Cold  chills  were  upon  him,  and  yet  he  felt 
that  there  was  a  burning  fever  in  his  brain.  The  excitement 
was  too  great; — the  transition  from  the' bed  of  wounds  and 
sickness,  he  felt,  must  work  the  most  fatal  effects  even  if  he  sur- 
vived the  struggle.  But  the  solemn  conviction  had  at  length 
reached  his  soul  that  he  was  not  to  survive.  The  awful  truth 
had  touched  his  innate  mind,  that,  in  a  few  hours,  he  must  be  a 
portion  of  the  va$t,  the  infinite,  the  strange  eternity. 

'•  Surely !  I  shall  not  find  it  hard !"  was  the  audible  speech 
which  this  conviction  forced  from  him.  He  started  at  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice.  Thought  was  painful  and  torturing.  The 
pause  which  had  been  allowed  him,  left  him  only  to  agony ;  and 
he  longed  for  the  coming  on  of  the  strife,  and  the  reckless  con- 
flict, to  relieve  him  by  their  terrible  excitements,  from  thoughts 
and  feelings  still  more  terrible. 

This  relief,  dreadful  as  it  threatened  to  be,  was  now  at  hand. 
The  massive  bolts  which  secured  the  frame-work  of  the  door 
were  yielding.  Some  of  the  panels  were  driven  in — and  the 
soldiers  were  preparing  to  lunge  away,  through  the  openings,  at 
the  hearts  of  the  assailants.  But  this,  Morton  positively  forbid. 
In  a  whisper,  he  commanded  them  to  keep  silent  and  in  the 
background.  Their  muskets  were  levelled,  under  his  direction, 
rather  under  breast  height,  and  presented  at  the  entrance ;  and, 
in  this  position,  he  awaited,  with  a  stillness  like  that  which  pre- 
cedes the  storm,  for  that  moment  when  he  might  command  all 
his  bolts  to  be  discharged  with  the  unerring  certainty  of  fate. 

Moments  now  bore  with  them  the  awful  weight  of  hours ;  the 
impatient  murmurs  deepened  from  without ;  the  strokes  of  the 
axe  became  redoubled ;  and  the  groaning  timbers,  yielding  at 
every  stroke,  were  already  a  wreck.  Another  blow,  and  the 
work  was  done  !  Yet,  ere  the  dreadful  certainty  yawned  upon 
them  —  ere  the  chasm  was  quite  complete  — a  wild  chorus  of 
yells  above  stairs — the  rush  of  hurrying  footsteps — the  shrieks 
and  the  shot — announced  to  the  gloomy  outlaw,  below,  the  oc- 


456  THE   SCOUT. 

currence  of  some  new  disaster.  His  defences  were  driven  in 
above ! 

A  troop  of  the  outlaws  had,  in  fact  already  effected  their  en- 
trance. They  had  literally  clambered  up  the  slender  columns 
of  the  portico  in  front — the  sentinel  placed  in  that  quarter  hav- 
ing been  just  before  withdrawn  to  the  rear  by  Hillhouse,  who 
deemed  that  he  would  be  more  useful  there,  and  under  his  com- 
mand. This,  with  a  vanity  natural  to  such  a  person,  he  desired 
to  make  as  respectable  as  possible.  Lifting  one  of  the  sashes, 
without  being  heard  in  the  din  which  prevailed  below,  they  had 
found  their  way  silently  into  the  apartment.  Stealing  cautiously 
along  the  passage,  they  had  come  upon  the  surgeon,  while  him- 
self and  little  squad  were  most  busy  with  the  assailants  from 
without.  The  skirmish  between  them  had  been  short.  The 
first  notice  that  Hillhouse  had  of  his  danger,  was  from  the  pistol- 
shot  by  which  he  was  stricken  down.  His  men  turned  to  meet 
their  new  enemies,  and  in  the  brifef  interval  that  ensued,  other 
foes  dashed  up  the  ladder,  through  the  window,  into  the  apart- 
ment, and  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  the  conflict  there. 

Hillhouse  was  not  so  much  hurt  as  not  to  be  conscious,  before 
sinking  into  insensibility,  that  the  outlaws  were  already  stripping 
him  of  his  gorgeous  apparel.  His  scarlet  coat  had  already  passed 
into  the  hands  of  a  new  owner. 

Meanwhile  the  work  was  going  on  below.  Morton,  when  he 
heard  the  uproar  above,  readily  divined  the  extent  of  his  mis- 
fortune. But  he  was  not  suffered  to  muse  upon  it  long.  His 
own  trial  was  at  hand.  The  door  was  finally  driven  from  all 
its  fastenings,  there  was  no  longer  any  obstruction,  and  the  liv- 
ing tide  poured  in,  as  Morton  fancied  they  would,  in  tumultuous 
masses.  Then  came  the  awful  order  from  his  lips  to  "fire!" 
It  was  obeyed  by  the  first  file  of  three  men,  kneeling ;  the  re- 
maining three  followed  the  example  a  moment  after ;  and  yells 
of  anguish  ensued,  and  mingled  with  the  first  wild  shouts  of  tri- 
umph of  the  assailants ! 

It  was  a  moment  of  mixed  pain  and  terror  !  Perhaps,  if  they 
could  have  recoiled,  they  would  have  done  so.  But  this  was 
now  a  physical  impossibility.  The  crowd  in  the  rear  pressed 
forward  and  wedged  their  comrades  who  were  in  the  foreground  ; 


THE   SIEGE   AND   STORM.  457 

while  the  bayonet  plied  busily  among  them.  But  what  could 
be  done,  in  that  way,  by  six  men  in  a  hand  to  hand  conflict  with 
six  times  their  number.  The  strife  was  dreadful,  but  short. 
Man  after  man  of  the  outlaws,  was  spiked  upon  the  dripping 
steel ;  but  the  mass,  unable  to  retreat,  were  driven  forward,  mad 
and  foaming,  under  the  feeling  of  desperation  which  now  filled 
their  hearts.  They  had  now  ceased  to  think  or  fear,  and  rushed 
like  the  wild  bull  upon  the  ready  bayonets.  The  soldiers  went 
down  under  the  sheer  pressure  of  their  crowding  bodies.  The 
Black  Riders  darted  among  and  over  them,  searching  each  heart 
separately  with  their  knives ;  and  the  only  strife  which  now  re- 
mained was  from  the  unavoidable  conflict  among  themselves  of 
their  jostling  and  conflicting  forms.  The  hoarse  accents  of 
Stockton  were  now  heard,  pre-eminent  above  the  uproar,  giving 
his  final  orders. 

"  Take  Ned  Morton  alive,  my  merry  fellows.  He  owes  a  life 
to  the  cord  and  timber.  Save  him  for  it  if  you  can." 

Morton  had  reserved  himself  for  this  moment. 

"  Ye  have  tracked  the  tiger  to  his  den !"  he  muttered,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  stairway,  where  he  had  taken  his  position,  partly 
concealed  in  the  obscurity  of  the  passage.  The  crisis  of  his  fate 
was  at  hand.  The  party  from  above  were  now  heard  hurrying 
downward,  to  mingle  in  the  melee  below;  and  he  levelled  his 
pistols  among  the  crowd  in  the  direction  of  Stockton's  voice, 
and  fired  —  and  not  without  effect.  He  was  now  too  deliberate 
to  throw  away  his  bullets.  One  of  them  passed  through  the 
fleshy  part  of  the  shoulder  of  his  inveterate  enemy,  who  was  in 
the  advance ;  while  the  other  prostrated  in  death  one  of  his  most 
forward  followers. 

Stockton  screamed  with  mingled  pain  and  fury,  and  with 
sabre  lifted,  darted  upon  his  foe.  Feebly  shouting  his  hate  and 
defiance,  Morton  also  lifted  his  sword,  which  he  had  leaned  on 
the  steps  beside  him  for  greater  convenience,  and  advanced  gal- 
lantly to  meet  the  ruffian.  They  met,  and  the  whole  remaining 
strength  of  Morton,  treasured  up  for  this  very  crisis,  was  thrown 
into  his  arm.  But  the  tasks  through  which  he  had  already  gone 
had  exhausted  him.  The  limb  fell  nerveless  by  his  side,  and 

20 


458  THE  SCOUT. 

ere  the  blow  of  Stockton  descended,  he  had  sunk  down  in  utter 
insensibility  at  the  feet  of  his  opponent. 

The  conflict  was  ended.  The  pledge  made  to  the  ladies  of 
the  mansion  had  been  fully  redeemed  by  its  defenders.  Not 
one  of  them  remained  unhurt;  and  the  greater  number  were 
already  stiifened  in  the  unrelaxing  grasp  of  death.  The  out- 
laws had  paid  dearly  for  their  victory.  No  less  than  sixteen  of 
the  assailants  had  been  slain ;  and  the  arts  of  Stockton,  which 
had  originally  won  them  over  to  his  designs,  and  made  them 
hostile  to  their  ancient  leader,  now  derived  additional  support 
from  the  sanguinary  feeling  which  had  been  induced  by  the 
bloody  struggle  in  their  minds.  They  were  now  reconciled  to 
that  decree  which  determined  that  Morton  should  be  their  vic- 
tim. They  needed  no  more  persuasion  to  resolve  that  he  should 
die  upon  the  gallows. 

The  first  impulse  of  Stockton,  as  he  straddled  the  inanimate 
body  of  the  man  whom  he  so  much  feared  and  hated,  was  to 
spurn  it  with  his  foot — the  next  to  make  his  fate  certain  by  a 
free  use  of  his  sword  upon  it ;  but  the  cold  malignity  of  his  char- 
acter prevailed  to  prolong  the  life  and  the  trial  of  his  enemy. 
The  utter  impotence  of  Morton  to  do  further  harm,  suggested  to 
Stockton  the  forbearance  which  he  would  not  otherwise  have 
displayed.  It  was  with  some  pains  only,  and  a  show  of  resolu- 
tion such  as  Morton  had  usually  employed  to  hold  them  in  sub- 
jection, that  he  was  enabled  to  keep  back  his  followers,  who,  in 
their  blind  rage,  were  pressing  forward  with  the  same  murderous 
purpose  which  he  had  temporarily  arrested  in  his  own  bosom. 
With  a  more  decided  malignity  of  mood,  he  gave  a  new  direc- 
tion to  their  bloody  impulses. 

"Away!"  he  cried,  "get  a  hurdle,  or  something  that  will 
take  him  out  without  much  .  shaking !  He  has  life  enough  in 
him  yet  for  the  gallows  !" 

A  shout  seconded  with  approbation  the  dark  suggestion,  and 
the  crowd  rushed  away  to  procure  the  necessary  conveyance. 
A  door,  torn  from  an  outhouse,  answered  this  purpose ;  and  the 
still  breathing,  but  motionless  form  of  Edward  Morton,  was  lifted 
upon  it.  Unhappily,  he  wakened  to  consciousness  in  a  few  mo- 
ments after  leaving  the  threshold  of  the  dwelling.  The  purer 


THE   SIEGE   AND   STORM.  459 

atmosphere  without  revived  him ;  and  his  eyes  opened  to  en- 
counter the  biting  scorn,  and  the  insulting  triumph,  of  the 
wretches  he  had  so  lately  ruled.  His  ears  were  filled  with  the 
gross  mockeries  of  those  whom  his  bloody  resistance  had  stimu- 
latad  to  new  hate  and  a  deeper  ferocity  of  temper. 

A  bitter  pang  went  keenly  through  his  heart ;  but  he  had  still 
a  hope.  He  had  kept  one  hope  in  reserve  for  some  such  occa- 
sion. Long  before,  when  he  first  commenced  that  dark  career 
of  crime,  the  cruel  fruits  of  which  he  was  about  to  reap,  he  had 
provided  himself  with  a  dagger — a  small,  stout,  but  short  instru- 
ment—  which  he  hid  within  his  bosom.  This  instrument  he 
devoted  to  the  one  particular  purpose  of  taking  his  own  life. 
He  had  decreed  that  it  should  be  sacred — not  to  employ  lan- 
guage illegitimately — to  the  one  work  of  suicide  only.  But 
once,  indeed,  he  had  almost  violated  his  resolve.  The  same 
instrument  he  had  proffered  to  poor  Mary  Clarkson,  in  a  mood, 
and  at  a  moment  of  mockery,  scarcely  less  bitter  than  had  fallen 
to  his  own  lot.  The  remembrance  of  the  circumstance  touched 
him  at  this  instant,  and  humbled,  in  some  degree,  the  exulting 
feeling  which  was  rising  in  his  breast,  at  the  recollection  of  his 
resource.  But  he  did  exult,  nevertheless.  He  felt  that  the 
dagger  was  still  about  him,  hidden  within  the  folds  of  his  vest ; 
and,  with  this  knowledge,  he  was  better  able  to  meet  the  vin- 
dictive glance  of  his  foe,  who  walked  beside  the  litter  on  which 
the  outlaws  were  bearing  him  to  the  wood. 

"Bring  him  to  the  Park!"  commanded  Stockton.  "He  will 
hang  there  more  conspicuously,  as  a  warning  for  other  traitors." 

"  No  !  No  !  — not  there  !"  said  Darcy,  interposing,  "  the  ladies 
can  see  him  from  the  house." 

"Well,  and  a  very  good  sight  it  is,  too  {"replied  the  other, 
brutally ;  "  they've  seen  him  often  enough  dancing  on  the  earth, 
I  fancy ;  it  may  be  an  agreeable  change  to  behold  him  dancing 
in  air  awhile. 

A  few  serious  words,  however,  whispered  in  his  ears  by  Darcy, 
prevailed  with  Stockton  to  effect  a  change  in  his  brutal  Solu- 
tion ;  and  the  cavalcade  took  its  way  in  the  direction  of  the 
woods  where  the  encampment  of  the  Black  Riders  for  the  night 
had  been  made.  It  was  intended  that  there  the  crowning  scene 
of  hate  and  punishment  should  take  place. 


460  THE  SCOUT. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

"C 

HATE  BAFFLED  BY  JUSTICE. 

MEANWHILE,  what  had  been  the  condition  of  mind  of  the 
ladies  in  the  dwelling  1  They  had  heard  the  greater  part  of 
the  bloody  struggle  going  on  below — the  shots,  the  shouts,  the 
groans  and  shrieks,  and  all  the  infernal  clamors  of  that  strife  of 
moral  feelings  and  physical  passions,  in  which  man,  alone,  of  all 
the  animals,  is  permitted  to  indulge.  The  rending  of  bolt  and 
bar  had  also  been  audible,  and  they  readily  conjectured  all  the 
rest.  They  finally  knew  that  the  barriers  were  forced;  and 
when  the  first  rush  of  the  strife  was  over,  and  the  silence  of 
deatH  prevailed  for  the  first  time  below,  then  did  they  feel  as- 
sured that  death  himself  was  there,  surrounded  by  all  his  melan- 
choly trophies. 

How  terrible  was  then  that  silence  !  For  the  first  time  during 
the  whole  period  of  their  suspense,  did  Flora  Middleton  yield 
herself  up  to  prayer.  Before,  she  could  not  kneel.  While  the 
storm  raged  below,  her  soul  seemed  to  be  in  it;  she  could  not 
divert  it  to  that  calmer,  holier  contemplation,  which  invests  the 
purpose  with  purity,  and  lifts  the  eye  of  the  worshipping  spirit 
to  the  serene  courts  of  Heaven.  Her  father's  spirit  was  then 
her  own,  and  she  felt  all  its  stimulating  strength.  She  felt  that 
she  too  could  strike,  should  there  be  occasion ;  and  when,  at  one 
moment,  the  clamor  seemed  to  be  approaching,  her  eye  kindled 
with  keener  fire,  as  it  looked  round  the  dim  attic  in  which  they 
had  sought  refuge,  as  if  in  search  of  some  weapon  which  might 
defend  it. 

"IPs  all  over!"  at  length  she  exclaimed,  when  the  silence 
had  continued  the  space  of  half  an  hour.  "  They  have  left  the 
house,  mother." 

"  Do  not  trust  to  go  out  yet,  my  child,"  was  the  answer  of  the 


HATE   BAFFLED   BY   JUSTICE.  461 

grandmother.  "I  fear  some  trick,  some  danger; — for  why 
should  they  leave  us  undisturbed,  so  long." 

"  Hark !  mother !  — there  is  a  noise  below." 

"  Yes ;  I  think  so  !     I  hear  it !" 

"A  footstep  ! — I  should  know  that  footstep  !  A  voice  !  It 
is — it  must  be  the  voice  of  Clarence  Conway." 

The  keen  sense  of  the  interested  heart  had  not  deceived  the 
maiden.  Clarence  Conway  was,  indeed,  within  the  dwelling. 
With  limbs  that  trembled,  and  a  heart  that  shuddered  as  he  ad- 
vanced, the  young  commander  trod  the  avenues  of  the  dwelling 
which  bore  such  bloody  proofs,  at  every  footstep,  of  the  fearful 
conflict  which  we  have  faintly  endeavored  to  describe.  The 
victims  were  all  unknown  to  him,  and  their  uniforms,  those 
equally  of  the  British  and  the  banditti,  did  not  awaken  in  him 
any  sympathy  in  their  behalf.  On  the  contrary,  it  would  seem 
that  enemies  alone  had  fallen,  and  the  inference  was  natural 
enough  that  they  had  fallen  by  the  hands  of  those  who  were 
friends  to  the  country. 

But  how  should  the  patriots  have  assailed  the  enemy  in  the 
dwelling  which,  hitherto,  among  all  the  Americans,  had  been 
considered  sacred  ?  Even  though  it  had  been  made  their  place 
of  retreat  and  refuge,  such,  he  would  have  preferred  it  to  re- 
main, sooner  than  its  peaceful  and  pure  sanctuary  should  have 
been  dishonored  by  such  unholy  tokens.  But  the  more  serious 
concern  which  troubled  him,  arose  from  his  apprehensions  for 
Flora  and  her  grandmother.  He  hurried  through  the  several 
chambers,  calling  on  their  names.  Well  might  his  voice  thicken 
with  a  husky  horror,  as  he  heard  the  responses  only  of  the 
deserted  apartments,  in  so  many  mocking  echoes.  At  length, 
when  he  was  most  miserable,  and  when,  in  his  further  search  in 
the  upper  chambers,  he  dreaded  lest  he  should  happen  on 
their  mangled  remains,  his  ear  recognised,  or  he  fancied, 
an  answer  in  those  tones  which  were  then  doubly  dear  to  his 
senses. 

"  Flora,  dear  Flora !"  he  cried  aloud,  but  with  a  rapidity  of 
utterance  which  almost  made  his  syllables  incoherent,  lest  he 
should  somehow  lose  the  repetition  of  the  sweet  assurance  which 
he  had  so  faintly  heard  before.  The  door  of  the  attic  was 


462  THE   SCOUT. 

thrown  open  in  the  next  instant,  and  the  voice  of  the  maiden 
summoned  him  to  her  presence. 

He  clasped  her  in  his  arms  with  a  fervor  which  could  not  be 
put  aside ;  which  no  mere  looks  of  reserve  could  discourage  or 
repulse  ;  nay,  under  circumstances  of  relief  to  the  maiden  which 
wrought  in  her  mind  a  momentary  forgetfulness  of  his  supposed 
perfidy. 

"Thank  God,  you  are  safe!"  was  his  fervent  ejaculation; 
"  but  tell  me,  dear  Flora,  what  means  the  horrible  carnage  which 
has  taken  place  below  ?" 

"  Oh,  Clarence — your  brother!  Is  he  not  there — is  he  not 
among  the  slain1?" 

"No!  he  is  not  among  them — what  of  him?  I  see  none 
among  the  slain  but  British  and  sworn  enemies." 

"  Then  they  have  made  him  prisoner — the  Black  Eiders — 
they  made  the  assault  upon  the  house  because  he  was  in  it ; 
their  avowed  purpose  being  to  execute  death  upon  him  as  a 
rebel." 

A  sad  smile  passed  over  the  lips  of  Clarence,  as  he  heard 
these  words,  and  his  head  was  shaken  with  a  mournful  doubt. 

"  He  has  nothing  to  fear  from  them,  Flora  !"  he  replied,  "  but 
where  are  they  ?  How  long  is  it  since  this  dreadful  affair  took 
place." 

"  Scarce  an  hour.  The  horrible  strife  I  seem  to  hear  now. 
To  my  senses  it  is  scarcely  ended." 

"  Enough !  I  must  believe  you  then.  I  must  fall  upon  these 
bloodhounds  if  I  can.  Farewell,  dear  Flora — farewell,  for  a 
little  while." 

"  But  your  brother — remember,  Colonel  Conway,  that  he  is 
your  brother !" 

"  Colonel  Conway !"  exclaimed  the  young  soldier,  with  a  sur- 
prise thai  was  greatly  increased  as  he  beheld  the  looks  of  the 
speaker,  now  suddenly  cold  and  frozen. 

"  There  is  something  wrong,  Flora,  I  perceive ;  and  it  all 
comes  from  that  same  brother,  whose  relationship  you  are  so 
anxious  to  have  me  remember.  Would  to  God  that  he  had  re- 
membered it.  But  I  will  save  him  if  I  can.  You  may  be  right 
— he  may  be  in  danger.  Those  bloody  wretches  would  not 


HATE  BAFFLED  BY  JUSTICE.  463 

make  much  difference  between  friend  and  foe,  in  their  love  of 
strife  and  plunder.  But  meet  me  not  with  such  looks  when  I 
return." 

"  Fly,  if  you  would  save  him.  I  tremble,  Colonel  Conway, 
lest  you  should  be  too  late !" 

"  Colonel  Conway,  again !  Flora  Middleton,  you  have  again 
listened  to  the  voice  of  the  slanderer.  There  must  be  an  ex- 
planation of  this,  dear  Flora.'L 

"  There  shall  be,  but  fly  now,  if  you  would  be  of  service — 
if  you  would  lessen  the  difficulties  of  that  explanation." 

1 '  Be  it  so !  I  leave  you,  Flora,  but  will  leave  a  few  trusty 
men  to  rid  your  dwelling  of  these  bloody  tokens.  Meanwhile, 
spare  yourself  the  sight;  keep  your  present  place  of  retreat, 
till  you  hear  my  voice.  Farewell." 

"  Farewell !" — the  word  was  uttered  by  Flora  with  emphatic 
fervor.  From  her  heart  she  wished  kirn,  of  all  others,  to  fare 
well !  She  looked  with  a  longing,  lingering  gaze  after  his  noble 
form,  so  erect,  so  commanding,  so  distinguished  in  all  its  move- 
ments, by  the  governing  strength  of  a  high  and  fearless  soul 
within. 

"  Can  such  a  presence  conceal  such  baseness  !"  she  murmured, 
as  she  returned  to  the  attic.  "  Can  it  be,  dear  mother  ?"  was 
the  apparently  unmeaning  expression  which  fell  involuntarily 
from  her  lips,  as  she  buried  her  face  in  bitter  anguish  in  the 
bosom  of  the  maternal  lady. 

Clarence  Conway  immediately  set  his  troop  in  motion.  He 
detached  his  more  trusty  scouts  in  advance.  At  the  moment  of 
leaving  the  house,  he  had  no  sort  of  intelligence  which  could 
designate  the  position  of  the  Black  Riders,  or  even  assure  him 
of  their  near  neighborhood.  Not  an  individual  was  to  be  seen 
around  the  dwelling.  The  slaves  of  the  plantation,  at  the  first 
approach  of  the  conflict,  took  flight  to  the  swamp-thickets ;  and 
in  these  they  would  remain  until  long  after  the  storm  had  over- 
blown. 

Conway  moved  forward  therefore  with  the  greatest  caution. 
He  might  be  entering  an  ambuscade,  and  certainly  had  reason 
to  apprehend  one,  in  consequence  of  the  sudden  flight  of  the 
banditti  from  the  mansion-house  before  they  had  sacked  it.  The 


464  THE   SCOUT. 

idea  that  Edward  Conway  had  anything  really  to  fear  from 
those  whom  he  too  well  knew  to  be  his  confederates,  was  some- 
thing of  an  absurdity,  which  he  found  little  difficulty  in  dismis- 
sing from  his  mind.  He  rejoiced,  at  the  first  moment  of  receiv- 
ing the  intelligence,  that  his  brother  lived — that  he  had  survived 
the  fiercer  conflict  which  had  taken  place  between  them. 

But,  an  instant  after,  and  he  almost  regretted  that  such  was 
the  case.  It  was  his  duty  to  pursue  him  as  a  public  enemy, 
and  one  of  a  cast  so  atrocious  that,  he  well  knew,  if  taken,  his 
life  would  probably  be  required  by  the  hands  of  the  summary 
avenger.  The  stern  justice  which  in  those  days  required  blood 
for  blood,  had  long  since  selected  the  fierce  chief  of  the  Black 
Riders  as  a  conspicuous  victim  for  the  gallows;  and  Clarence 
Conway,  as  a  means  to  avoid  this  cruel  possibility,  issued  the 
sanguinary  orders  to  his  troop  to  show  no  quarter.  The  ten- 
derest  form  of  justice  called  for  their  extermination  in  the  short- 
est possible  manner. 

This  resolve  was  made  and  the  command  given,  after  he  had 
been  advised  by  the  scouts  that  the  enemy  were  collected  in 
force  upon  an  open  ground  on  the  river  bluff,  a  short  mile  and  a 
half  above.  The  scouts  reported  that  a  good  deal  of  confusion 
appeared  among  them,  but  they  could  not  approach  sufficiently 
nigh  to  ascertain  its  particular  occasion;  having  returned,  in 
obedience  to  orders,  as  soon  as  they  had  traced  out  the  enemy's 
place  of  retreat.  They  also  conveyed  to  Conway  the  further  in- 
telligence that  they  might  have  gone  much  nearer  with  impu- 
nity— that  the  foe,  so  far  from  forming  an  ambush,  had  not,  in 
fact,  taken  the  usual  precautions  against  attack — had  not  thrown 
out  any  sentinels,  and  might  be  surprised  with  little  difficulty. 

Upon  hearing  this,  Clarence  Conway  gave  orders  for  a  divis- 
ion of  his  force  into  three  equal  parties ;  one  of  which  was  de- 
spatched to  make  a  circuit,  and  gain  a  point  above  them  on  the 
river ;  a  second  was  ordered  to  traverse  the  river  banks  from 
below ;  while  he,  himself,  leading  on  the  third  division,  was  to 
burst  suddenly  upon  them  from  the  forest  —  the  nearest  point 
from  which  the  attack  could  be  made. 

These  orders  had  scarcely  been  given,  before  the  sound  of  a 
rifle  was  heard,  in  the  direction  of  the  spot  where  the  outlaws 


HATE   BAFFLED   BY   JUSTICE.  465 

were  assembled,  and  this  was  followed  by  a  confused  clamor,  as 
of  many  voices.  This  hurried  the  movement.  What  was  the 
meaning  of  that  shot  1  Did  it  indicate  alarm  among  the  enemy  1 
Were  they  apprized  of  his  approach?  Clarence  Conway,  in  all 
his  conjectures,  made  no  sort  of  approach  to  the  real  nature  of 
that  one  rifle-shot,  and  yet  it  was  of  some  importance  to  him  and 
to  his  feelings.  It  rendered  a  portion  of  his  task  less  irksome, 
and  far  less  difficult. 

Silently,  he  led  the  way  for  his  division — not  a  bugle  sounded 
—  scarce  a  word  was  spoken,  and  the  parties  separated  on  their 
several  courses,  with  no  more  noise  than  was  unavoidable,  from 
the  regular  and  heavy  tread  of  their  horses'  feet.  It  was  fortu- 
nate for  them,  perhaps,  that  the  banditti  which  they  sought 
were  only  too  busy  in  their  own  purposes  to  be  heedful  of  their 
foes  until  it  was  too  late.  But  let  us  not  anticipate. 

The  Black  Riders  had  borne  their  victim,  with  slow  steps, 
upon  his  litter,  to  the  spot  which  had  been  chosen  f6r  his  last 
involuntary  act  of  expiation.  Their  advance  was  preceded  by 
that  of  our  old  friend,  the  watchful  scout,  John  Bannister.  Anx- 
ious, to  the  last  degree,  for  the  safety  of  the  ladies  of  the  bar- 
ony, he  had  tracked  the  steps  of  the  outlaws  to  the  assault  upon 
the  dwelling  —  following  as  closely  upon  their  heels  as  could  be 
justified  by  a  prudential  regard  to  his  own  safety.  He  had  be- 
held so  much  of  the  conflict  as  could  be  comprehended  by  one 
who  was  compelled  to  maintain  his  watch  from  a  distant  covert 
in  the  woods.  The  cause  of  the  fight,  and  the  parties  to  it,  were 
equally  inscrutable  to  him ;  and  this,  too,  added  not  a  little  to 
the  anxiety  which  filled  his  mind.  This  anxiety  grew  to  agony 
when  he  discovered  that  the  defences  of  the  dwelling  were 
broken  down,  and  the  house  in  the  possession  of  the  banditti. 
The  fate  of  Flora  Middleton  was  in  their  hands,  and  he  was  im- 
potent to  serve  or  save  her.  His  anguish  was  truly  indescriba- 
ble, as  it  was  nearly  insupportable. 

But  he  was  suddenly  aroused  from  its  indulgence,  when  he 
beheld  the  crowd,  as,  leaving  the  house,  it  advanced  through 
the  grounds  to  the  very  spot  in  the  woods  in  which  he  had  made 
his  hiding-place.  It  became  necessary  to  decamp ;  and  as  he 
sped  back  to  the  place  where  he  had  left  his  canoe  in  the  cus- 

20* 


466  THE  SCOUT. 

tody  of  the  landlord  and  Jacob  Clarkson,  he  was  somewhat 
surprised  to  find  that  they  continued  to  follow  in  his  footsteps. 
Somewhat  wondering  at  this,  and  at  their  brief  delay  in  the 
dwelling  which  they  had  entered  after  so  obstinate  a  conflict, 
he  ordered  Muggs  to  put  himself,  Clarkson  and  the  canoe,  into 
close  cover,  while  he,  advancing  somewhat  upon  the  higher 
grounds  before  them,  could,  from  a  place  of  concealment,  ob- 
serve the  movements  of  the  enemy,  and  prescribe  the  farther 
conduct  of  his  own  attendants. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  The  Black  Riders  brought  their 
prisoner  to  the  very  spot  where  the  body  of  Mary  Clarkson  lay 
buried.  The  fainting  form  of  the  outlaw  chief  was  leaned 
against  the  head-board  which  the  devoted  Bannister  had  raised* 
to  her  memory ;  and,  as  the  anguish  following  the  transfer  of 
his  body  to  the  ground  from  the  door  on  which  it  had  been 
borne,  caused  Morton  to  open  his  eyes,  and  restored  him  to  con- 
sciousness, the  letters  "  M.  C."  met  his  first  glance ;  but  their 
import  remained  unconjectured.  He  had  not  much  time  allowed 
him  for  conjectures  of  any  kind.  His  implacable  foe,  Stockton, 
stood  before  him  with  looks  of  hate  and  triumph  which  the 
prostrate  man  found  it  difficult  to  endure,  but  utterly  impossible 
to  avoid. 

"  It  is  all  over  with  you,  Ned  Morton,"  said  the  other.  "  Will 
you  beg  for  your  life — will  you  supplicate  me  for  mercy  ?" 

A  smile  of  scorn  passed  over  the  lips  of  the  outlaw. 

"  My  life  is  not  in  your  hands,"  he  replied  j  "  and,  if  it  were, 
it  should  be  thrice  forfeit  before  I  should  acknowledge  your 
power  and  ask  your  mercy.  I  bid  you  defiance  to  the  last.  I 
look  upon  you  without  fear,  though  with  unsuppressed  loathing, 
as  I  quit  the  world;  and,  in  this  way,  do  I  baffle  all  your 
malice." 

As  he  spoke  these  words,  he  drew  the  little  stiletto  suddenly 
from  his  bosom,  and  plunged  it  desperately,  and  with  an  effort 
of  all  his  strength,  full  at  his  own  heart.  But  the  blow  was 
baffled.  The  hand  of  Darcy,  who  had  placed  himself  behind 
Morton  without  his  knowledge,  was  extended  at  the  moment, 
and  grasped  the  arm  which  impelled  the  weapon. 

"  Not  so  fast !"  cried  Stockton,  as  he  wrested  the  dagger  from 


HATE  BAFFLED  BY  JUSTICE.  467 

his  band,  and  flung  it  from  him,  "  there's  no  cheating  the  halter. 
It's  a  destiny !" 

The  baffled  outlaw  writhed  himself  about,  and  looking  rotind 
upon  Darcy,  with  a  bitter  smile,  exclaimed — 

"  May  your  last  friend  fail  you,  as  mine  has  done,  at  the  last 
moment !" 

A  faintness  then  came  over  him,  his  eyes  closed,  and  he  sank 
back  exhausted  upon  the  little  hillock  which  covered  Mary 
Clarkson.  Little  did  he  at  that  moment  conjecture  on  whose 
bosom  his  body  temporarily  found  repose. 

"  Up  with  him  at  once,"  cried  Stockton ;  "  or  he  will  cheat  the 
gallows  at  last." 

An  active  brigand  then  ran  up  the  trunk  of  a  slender  water 
oak  that  stood  nighest  to  the  spot.  The  rope  was  flung  to  him 
and  fastened ;  and  two  of  the  banditti,  stooping  down,  raised 
the  fainting  outlaw  upon  their  shoulders,  while  the  noose  was  to 
be  adjusted.  As  his  form  was  elevated  above  the  level  of  the 
rest,  the  crowd  shouted  with  ferocious  exultation.  This  brought 
back  to  the  eyes  of  their  destined  victim,  a  portion  of  their 
former  fire.  He  recovered  a  momentary  strength.  He  looked 
round  upon  them  with  scorn.  He  felt  his  situation,  and  all  the 
shame,  and  all  the  agony — but  his  glances  were  full  of  life  and 
defiance,  and  his  cheeks  were  utterly  unblenching.  The  moment 
of  danger,  and  even  of  disgrace,  was  not  one  to  fill  his  fierce 
soul  with  apprehension. 

"  He'll  die  game  !"  muttered  John  Bannister,  who,  at  length, 
as  he  recognised  the  features  of  Edward  Conway,  began  to  con- 
jecture the  truth,  and  to  comprehend  the  circumstances  which 
were  lately  so  inscrutable. 

"  He'll  die  game ;  he's  got  some  of  the  good  blood  of  the 
Conways  in  him,  after  all.  But  it's  a  mortal  pity  he  should  die 
so,  for  the  family's  sake.  It's  a  good  name,  and  he's  the  blood- 
kin  of  Clarence." 

The  scout  lifted  his  rifle,  as  he  thus  soliloquized.  The  evi- 
dent desire  to  interpose,  and  save  the  victim  from  one  fate  by 
the  substitution  of  another,  was  strong  and  anxious  in  his  mind. 

"But,  no  !" — he  said,  after  he  had  drawn  his  sight  upon  the 
pale  brow  of  the  outlaw.  — "  If  it's  to  be  done  at  all,  Jake  Clark- 


468  THE  SCOUT. 

son's  the  man  to  do  it.  He's  got  a  sort  of  right  to  Ned  Gonway's 
life.  Jake!  Jake!" 

He  called  up  the  desolate  old  man,  who,  on  the  lower  ground 
by  the  river,  had  not  seen  these  proceedings. 

"Jake  !"  he  said — "is  your  rifle  loaded?' 

"Yes!" 

"  Then  look,  man  !  —  there's  your  enemy — there's  Ned  Con- 
way — it's  him  that  they're  a-lifting  up  among  them  there.  I 
'spose  they  want  to  do  him  some  partic'lar  kind  of  honor,  but  it's 
jest  over  poor  Mary's  grave  !" 

The  words  were  electric  !  The  old  man  grasped  and  raised 
his  weapon.  He  saw  not  the  purpose  of  the  crowd,  nor  did  he 
pause  to  ask  what  was  the  sort  of  honor  which  they  were  dis- 
posed to  confer  upon  the  outlaw.  He  saw  him  ! — Ms  face  only  ! 
That  he  knew,  and  that  was  enough.  A  moment  elapsed — 
but  one!  —  and  the  report  of  the  rifle  rang  sharply  along  the 
river  banks.  In  the  same  moment  the  men  who  were  lifting 
Edward  Morton  to  the  tree,  dropped  the  body  to  the  ground. 
The  work  of  death  was  already  done !  Their  efforts  were  no 
longer  necessary,  as  their  design  was  unavailing.  The  bullet 
had  penetrated  the  forehead  of  the  outlaw,  and  his  blood 
streamed  from  the  orifice  upon  the  still  fresh  mould  which  cov- 
ered the  victim  of  his  passions.  The  Black  Riders  turned  to 
the  quarter  whence  the  shot  had  come,  but  the  boat  of  John 
Bannister,  bearing  himself  and  his  associates,  was  already  at 
some  distance  from  the  shore. 


CONCLUSION.  469 

,.£• 
CHAPTER  XLIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

THE  rage  of  Stockton  at  being  thus  defrauded  of  his  prey  at 
last,  though  violent,  was  of  no  effect.  He  discharged  his  own 
pistol  at  the  boat  which  contained  the  fugitives ;  an  idle  act, 
which  was  followed  by  a  like  discharge  from  some  twenty  of  his 
followers.  They  might  as  well  have  aimed  their  bullets  at  the 
moon.  John  Bannister  answered  them  with  a  shout  —  which, 
to  their  consternation,  found  an  echo  from  twenty  voices  in  the 
woods  behind  them.  They  turned  to  confront  an  unexpected 
enemy.  Clarence  Conway  was  already  upon  them.  His  little 
band,  in  advance  of  the  other  two  divisions,  began  the  fray  as 
soon  as  it  had  reached  within  striking  distance ;  and  the  sudden 
effect  of  the  surprise  compensated  well  for  the  inadequacy  of  the 
assailing  party.  The  broadsword  was  doing  fearful  execution 
among  the  scattered  banditti,  before  Stockton  well  knew  in  what 
direction  to  turn  to  meet  his  enemy. 

But  the  power  which  he  had  thus  so  lately  gained,  was  too 
sweet,  and  had  called  for  too  much  toil  and  danger,  to  be  yield- 
ed without  a  violent  struggle ;  and,  if  mere  brute  courage  could 
have  availed  for  his  safety,  the  outlaw  might  still  have  escaped 
the  consequences  of  his  indiscretion.  He  rallied  his  men  with 
promptness,  enforced  their  courage  by  'the  exhibition  of  his  own ; 
and  his  numbers,  being  still  superior  to  the  small  force  which 
had  followed  Conway  through  the  woods,  the  effect  of  his  first 
onslaught  was  measurably  neutralized,  and  the  issue  of  the  con- 
flict soon  grew  doubtful. 

But  it  did  not  long  remain  so.  The  division  from  below  soon 
struck  in,  and  the  outlaws  gave  way.  They  broke  at  length, 
and  endeavored  to  find  safety  by  flying  up  the  banks  of  the 
river ;  but  here  they  were  met  by  a  third  division  of  Conway's 


470  THE  SCOUT. 

squadron,  and  their  retreat  entirely  cut  off.  Hemmed  in  on 
every  side,  assured  that  no  quarter  would  be  given  them,  they 
asked  for  none,  but  fought  and  died  upon  the  ground  to  which 
they  had  been  forced. 

It  was  the  fortune  of  Stockton  to  fall  under  the  sabre  of  Clar- 
ence Conway ;  while  Darcy,  leaping  into  the  river,  perished  be- 
neath a  blow  from  the  clubbed  rifle  of  John  Bannister,  whose 
boat,  a  moment  after  touched  the  shore. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  rapturous  expressions  of  his  wild 
whoop  of  joy  at  this  unlooked-for  meeting.  Meeting  with  his 
friend  and  leader,  in  a  moment  of  such  complete  victory,  amply 
atoned  to  him  for  all  the  trials,  risks  and  anxieties,  to  which  he 
had  been  exposed,  from  the  night  of  their  separation.  Not  one 
of  the  Black  Riders  escaped  the  conflict.  The  greater  number 
fell  beneath  the  swords  of  their  conquerors ;  but  some  few,  in 
their  desperation,  leapt  into  the  Congaree,  which  finally  engulfed 
them  all.  Clarence  Conway,  after  the  close  of  the  conflict,  de- 
voted a  few  painful  moments  to  the  examination  of  the  bloody 
field.  But  John  Bannister  threw  himself  between  his  com- 
mander and  one  of  the  victims  of  the  day.  The  eye  of  Clar- 
ence, searchingly  fell  on  that  of  his  follower ;  and  he  at  once 
divined  the  meaning  of  the  interruption. 

"  It's  here  then,  that  he  lies,  John  ?     How  did  he  die  1" 

"  Yes,  Clarence,  there  he  is ; — a  rifle  bullet  kept  off  a  worse 
eending.  He  died  like  a  brave  man,  though  it  mou't  be  he 
didn't  live  like  a  good  one.  Leave  the  rest  to  me,  Clarence. 
I'll  see  that  he's  put  decently  out  of  sight.  But  you'd  better 
push  up  and  see  Miss  Flora,  and  the  old  lady.  I  reckon  they've 
had  a  mighty  scary  time  of  it." 

"  I  thank  you,  John.  '  I  will  look  but  once  on  the  son  of  my 
father,  and  leave  the  rest  to  you." 

"  It's  a  ragged  hole  that  a  rifle  bullet  works  in  a  white  fore- 
head, Clarence,  and  you'll  hardly  know  it ;  said  the  scout  as  he 
reluctantly  gave  way  before  the  approach  of  his  superior. 
Clarence  Conway  gazed  in  silence  for  a  space  upon  the  inani- 
mate and  bloody  form  before  him ;  a  big  tear  gathered  slowly 
in  his  eyes ;  but  he  brushed  away  the  intruder  with  a  hasty 
hand,  while  he  turned  once  more  to  meet  his  followers  who  were 


CONCLUSION.  471 

slowly  gathering  in  the  back  ground.  He  felt,  even  at  that  mo- 
ment, a  cheering  sensation,  as  he  knew  that  his  brother  had  fal- 
len by  another  hand  than  his.  That  pang,  at  least,  was  spared 
him ;  and  for  the  rest,  the  cause  of  sorrow  was  comparatively 
slight. 

"He  could  have  lived,"  he  murmured  as  he  turned  away 
from  the  bloody  spectacle — "  He  could  have  lived  only  as  a  dis- 
honored and  a  suspected  man.  His  path  would  have  been 
stained  with  crime,  and  dogged  by  enemies.  It  is  better  that  it 
is  thus  !  May  God  have  mercy  on  his  soul !'; 

Our  story  is  on  the  threshold  of  conclusion.  We  have  little 
more  to  say.  Flora  Middleton  and  her  lover  were  soon  recon- 
ciled, and  the  misunderstanding  between  them  easily  and 
promptly  explained.  Jacob  Clarkson  and  John  Bannister  were 
living  and  sufficient  witnesses  to  save  Clarence  Conway  the  ne- 
cessity of  answering  for  himself,  and  of  denouncing  his  late  kins- 
man. Between  unsophisticated  and  sensible  people,  such  as  we 
have  sought  to  make  our  lovers  appear,  there  could  be  no  possi- 
bility of  a  protracted  session  of  doubts,  misgivings,  shynesses 
and  suspicions,  which  a  frank  heart  and  a  generous  spirit,  could 
not  breathe  under  for  a  day,  but  which  an  ingenious  novelist 
could  protract  through  a  term  of  years,  and  half  a  dozen  vol- 
umes. In  the  course  of  a  brief  year  following  these  events,  the 
British  were  beaten  from  the  country,  and  Clarence  and  Flora 
united  in  the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony.  The  last  was  an  event 
which  nobody  ever  supposed  was  regretted  by  either.  John 
Bannister  lived  with  them  at  the  barony,  from  the  time  of  their  • 
marriage,  through  the  pleasant  seasons  of  a  protracted  life.  Many 
of  our  readers  may  remember  to  have  seen  the  white-headed  old 
man  who,  in  his  latter  days,  exchanged  his  soubriquet  of  Supple. 
Jack,  for  one  more  dignified,  though,  possibly,  less  popular  among 
the  other  sex.  He  was  called  "  Bachelor  Bannister,"  toward  the 
closing  years  of  his  life,  and,  when  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies, 
did  not  quarrel  with  the  designation.  His  long  stories  about  the 
Revolution,  of  his  own  feats  and  those  of  Clarence  Conway,  were 
remembered  and  repeated  by  him,  with  little  variation,  to  the  last. 
In  this  he  differed  considerably  from  ordinary  chroniclers  of  the 


472  THE  SCOUT. 

old  school,  simply,  perhaps,  because  his  stories  were  originally 
more  truthful,  and  his  memory,  in  spite  of  his  years,  which  were 
"  frosty  yet  kindly,"  was  singularly  tenacious  to  the  end.  Our 
narrative  has  been  compiled  from  particulars  chiefly  gained, 
though  at  second-hand,  from  this  veracious  source. 

John  Bannister  lived  long  enough  to  see  the  eldest  son  of 
Clarence  Conway  almost  as  good  a  marksman  with  the  rifle,  and 
as  supple  a  forester,  as  he  himself  had  been  in  his  better  days ; 
and  his  dying  moments  were  consoled,  by  the  affectionate  offices 
of  those,  whom,  with  a  paternal  wisdom,  he  had  chosen  for  his 
friends  from  the  beginning.  It  may  be  stated,  en  passant,  that 
our  exquisite,  Mr.  Surgeon  Hillhouse,  neither  lost  his  life  nor  his 
wardrobe  in  the  conflict  at  Middleton  Barony.  He  survived  his 
wounds  and  saved  his  luggage.  His  self-esteem  was  also  pre- 
served, strange  to  say,  in  spite  of  all  his  failures  with  the  sex. 
He  was  one  whom  Providence  had  wondrously  blessed  in  this 
particular.  Of  self-esteem  he  had  quite  as  'many  garments,  if 
not  more,  than  were  allotted  to  his  person.  He  certainly  had 
a  full  and  fresh  suit  for  every  day  in  the  year. 


THE    END. 


J.  S.  REDFTELD, 

110  AND  112  NASSAU  STREET,  NEW  YORK, 

HAS  JUST  PUBLISHED : 


EPISODES  OF  INSECT  LIFE. 

By  ACHETA  DOMESTICA.     In  Three  Series  :  I.  Insects  of  Spring.- 
II.  Insects  of  Summer. —  III.    Insects  of  Autumn.      Beautifully 
illustrated.     Crown  8vo.,  cloth,  gilt,  price  $2.00  each.     The  same 
beautifully  colored  after  nature,  extra  gilt,  $4.00  each. 

"  A  book  elegant  enough  for  the  centre  table,  witty  enough  for  after  dinner,  and  wise 
enough  for  the  study  and  the  school-room.  One  of  the  beautiful  lessons  of  this  work  is 
the  kindly  riew  it  takes  of  nature.  Nothing  is  made  in  vain  not  only,  but  nothing  is 
Hade  ugly  or  repulsive.  A  charm  is  thrown  around  every  object,  and  life  suffused 
through  all.  suggestive  of  the  Creator's  goodness  and  wisdom." — N.  Y.  Evangelist. 

"  Moths,  glow-worms,  lady-birds,  May-flies,  bees,  and  a  variety  of  other  inhabitants  of 
foe  insect  world,  are  descanted  upon  in  a  pleasing  style,  combining  scientific  information 
with  romance,  in  a  manner  peculiarly  attractive." — Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  The  book  includes  solid  instruction  as  well  as  genial  and  captivating  mirth.  The 
wuentifie  knowledge  of  the  writer  is  thoroughly  reliable." — Examiner 


MEN  AND  ^WOMEN  OF  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

By  ARSENE  HOUSSAYE,  with  beautifully  Engraved  Portraits  of 
Louis  XV.,  and  Madame  de  Pompadour.  Two  volume  12mo. 
450  pages  each,  extra  superfine  paper,  price  $2.50. 

CONTENTS. — Du*-esny,  Fontenelle,  Marivaux,  Piron,  The  Abbe  Prevost,  Gentil-Bernard, 
Florian,  Boufllers,  Diderot,  Gretry,  Riverol,  Louis  XV.,  Greuze,  Boucher,  The  Van- 
loos,  Lantara,  Watteau,  La  Motte,  Dehle,  Abbe  Trublet,  Buffon,  Dorat,  Cardinal  de 
Bernis,  Crebillon  the  Gay,  Marie  Antoinette,  Made,  de  Pompadour,  Vade,  Mile.  Ca- 
margo,  Mile.  Clairon,  Mad.  de  la  Popeliniere,  Sophie  Arnould,  Crebillon  the  Tragic, 
Mile.  Guimard,  Three  Pages  in  the  Life  of  Dancourt,  A  Promenade  in  the  Palais-Rayal, 
the  Chevalier  de  la  Clos. 
''A  more  fascinating  book  than  this  rarely  issues  from  the  teeming  press.  Fascinn 

«ng  in  its  subject ;  fascinating  in  its  style :  fascinating  in  its  power  to  load  the  render  into 

ca-tl<>-t>uil<Hng  <>f  the  most  gorgeous  and  bewitch,v».^  description." — Courier  b  Enquirer. 
"This  is  a  most  welcome  book,  full  of  intormfi.Jon  and  amusement,  in  the  form  of 

memoirs,  comments,  and  anecdotes.     It  has  the  style  of  light  literature,  with  the  uae 

Fulness  if  the  gravest.     It  should  be  in  every  library,  and  the  hands  of  i;vcry  reader." 

Rostov  Commonwealth. 
"  A  BOOK  OK  BOOKS. — Two  deliciously  spicy  volumes,  that  are  a  perfect  bonnt  b»uctu 

for  an  epicure  in  reading.*' — Home  Journal. 


REDFIELDS    NEW    AND    POPULAR    PUBLICATIONS. 


PHILOSOPHERS  AND  ACTRESSES 

By   ARSENE  HOUSSAYE.     With   beautifully-engraved  Portraits  of 
Voltaire  and  Mad.  Parabere.     Two  vols.,  12mo,  price  $2.50. 

"We  have  here  the  most  charming  book  we  have  read  these  many  days,— «c 
powerful  in  its  fascination  that  we  have  been  held  for  hours  from  our  imperious  labor* 
or  needful  slumbers,  by  the  entrancing  influence  of  its  pages.  One  of  the  most  desir» 
ble  fruits  of  the  prolific  field  of  literature  of  the  present  season." — Ponmnd  Eclectic. 

"  Two  brilliant  and  fascinating — we  had  almost  said,  bewitching— volumes,  combl 
ning  information  and  amusement,  the  lightest  gossip,  with  solid  and  serviceable  wli 
dom." — Yankee  Blade. 

"  It  is  a  most  admirable  book,  full  of  originality,  wit,  information  and  philosophy 
Indeed,  the  vividness  of  the  book  is  extraordinary.  The  scenes  and  d«*cripiioaa  are 
absolutely  life-like." — Southern  Literary  Gazette. 

"  The  works  of  the  present  writer  are  the  only  ones  the  spirit  of  whoee  rhetoric  doea 
Justice\to  those  times,  and  in  fascination  of  description  and  style  equal  the  f««;iiiationB 
they  descant  upon." — New  Orleans  Commercial  Bulletin. 

"  The  author  is  a  brilliant  writer,  and  serves  up  his  sketches  in  a  sparkling  manner  " 
Christian  Freeman. 


ANCIENT  EGYPT  UNDER  THE  PHARAOHS. 
By  JOHN  KENDRICK,  M.  A.     In  2  vols.,  12mo,  price  $2.50. 

"  No  work  has  heretofore  appeared  suited  to  the  wants  of  the  historical  student, 
which  combined  the  labors  of  artists,  travellers,  interpreters  and  critics,  during  the 
periods  from  the  earliest  records  of  the  monarchy  to  its  final  absorption  in  the  empire 
of  Alexander.  This  work  supplies  this  deficiency."  —  Olive  Branch. 

"  Not  only  the  geography  and  political  history  of  Egypt  under  the  Pharaohs  are 
given,  but  we  are  furnished  with  a  minute  account  of  the  domestic  manners  and  cus- 
toms of  the  inhabitants,  their  language,  laws,  science,  religion,  agriculture,  »avigation 
and  commerce.1'—  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"These  volumes  present  a  comprehensive  view  of  the  results  of  the  combined  labors 
of  travellers,  artists,  and  scientific  explorers,  which  have  effected  so  much  during  the 
present  century  toward  the  development  of  Egyptian  archaeology  and  history."  —  Jour- 
nal of  Commerce. 

"  The  descriptions  are  very  vivid  and  one  wanders,  delighted  with  the  author,  through 
the  land  of  Egypt,  gathering  at  every  step,  new  phases  of  her  wondrous  history,  and 
ends  with  a  more  intelligent  knowledge  than  he  ever  before  had,  of  the  land  of  the 
Pharaohs."—  American  Spectator. 


COMPARATIVE  PHYSIOGNOMY; 

Or  Resemblances  between  Men  and  Animals.  By  J.  W.  REDFIELU, 
M.  D.  In  one  vol.,  8vo,  with  several  hundred  illustrations. 
price,  $2.00. 

"  Dr.  Red'Ield  has  produced  a  very  curious,  amusing,  and  instructive  book,  curioua 
in  its  origii>«lity  and  illustrations,  amusing  in  the  comparisons  and  analyses,  and  in. 
structive  b  icause  it  contains  very  much  useful  information  on  >a  too  much  neglected 
subject.  It  will  be  eagerly  7-ead  and  quickly  appreciated."  —  National  Mgis. 

"The  whole  work  exhibits  a  good  deal  of  scientific  research,  intelligent  observation, 
and  ingenuity."—  Daily  Union. 

"  Highly  entertaining  even  to  those  who  have  little  time  to  study  the  science."— 
Detroit  Daily  Advertiser. 

'•  This  is  a  remarkable  volume  and  will  be  read  by  two  classes,  those  who  study  foi 
information,  and  those  who  read  lor  amusement.  For  its  originality  and  entertaining 
character,  .we  commend  it  to  our  readers."  —  Albany  Express. 

"  It  is  overflowing  with  wit,  humor,  and  originality,  and  profusely  illustrated.  The 
whole  work  is  distinguished  by  vast  research  and  knowledge."  —  Knickerbocker. 

"  The  plan  is  a  novel  one  ;  the  proofs  ttriking,  and  must  challenge  the  attention  of  th« 
turious."  —  Daily  Advertiser 


REDFIELD'S  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS. 


NOTES  AND  EMENDATIONS  OF  SHAKESPEARE. 

Notes  and  Emendations  tc  the  Text  of  Shakespeare's  Plays,  from 
the  Early  Manuscript  Corrections  in  a  copy  of  the  folio  of  3632, 
in  the  possession  of  JOHN  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.,  F.S.A.  Third 
edition,  with  a  fac-simile  of  the  Manuscript  Corrections.  I  vol 
12mo,  cloth,  $1  50. 

'•It  is  not  for  a  moment  to  bo  doubted,  we  think,  that  in  this  volume  a  contribution 
t»s  been  made  to  the  clearness  nnd  accuracy  of  Shakespeare's  text,  by  far  the  most  im 
portant  of  any  offered  or  attempted  since  Shakespeare  lived  and  wrote."— Land.  Exam 

"  The  corrections  which  Mr.  Collier  has  here  given  to  the  world  are,  we  venture  to 
think,  of  more  value  than  the  labors  of  nearly  all  the  critics  on  Shakespeare's  text  puv 
together." — London  Literary  Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  rare  gem  in  the  history  of  literature,  and  can  not  fail  to  command  the  atten- 
tion of  all  the  amateurs  of  the  writings  of  the  immortal  dramatic  poet." — Ch'ston  Cour 

"  It  is  a  book  absolutely  indispensable  to  every  admirer  of  Shakespeare  who  wishes 
to  read  him  understandingiy." — Louisville  Courier. 

«'  It  is  clear  from  internal  evidence,  that  for  the  most  part  they  are  genuine  restora- 
tions of  the  original  plays.  They  carry  conviction  with  them." — Home  Journal. 

"  This  volume  is  an  almost  indispensable  companion  to  any  of  the  editions  of 
Shakespeare,  so  numerous  and  often  important  are  many  of  the  corrections."—  Register 
Philadelphia. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  CRUSADES. 
By  JOSEPH  FRANCOIS  MICHAUD.     Translated  by  W.  Robson,  3  vols. 
12mo.,  maps,  $3  75. 

"  It  is  comprehensive  and  accurate  in  the  detail  of  facts,  methodical  and  lucid  in  ar- 
rangement, with  a  lively  and  flowing  narrative." — Journal  of  Commerce. 

"  We  need  not  say  that  the  work  of  Michaud  has  superseded  all  other  histories 
of  the  Crusades.  This  history  has  long  been  the  standard  work  with  all  who  could 
read  it  in  its  original  language.  Another  work  on  the  same  subject  is  as  improbable 
as  a  new  history  of  the  'Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.'  "—Salem  Freeman. 

"  The  most  faithful  and  masterly  history-  ever  written  of  the  wild  wars  for  the  Holy 
Land." — Philadelphia  Amarir.an  Courier. 

"  The  ability,  diligence,  and  faithfulness,  with  which  Michaud  has  executed  his 
great  task,  are  undisputed  ;  and  it  is  to  his  well-filled  volumes  that  the  historical  stu- 
dent must  now  resort  for  copious  and  authentic  facts,  and  luminous  views  respecting 
this  most  romantic  atid  wonderful  period  in  the  annals  of  the  Old  World." — Boston 
Daily  Courier. 


MARMADUKE  WYVIL. 

An  Historical  Romance  of  1651,  by  HENRY  W.  HERBERT,  author 
of  the  "  Cavaliers  of  England,"  &c.,  &c.  Fourteenth  Edition. 
Revised  and  Corrected. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  best  works  of  the  kind  we  have  ever  read — full  of  thrilling  inci- 
dents and  adventures  in  the  stirring  times  of  Cromwell,  and  in  that  style  which  has 
made  the  works  of  Mr.  Herbert  so  popular." — Christian  Freeman,  Boston. 

"The  work  is  distinguished  by  the  same  historical  knowledge,  thrilling  incident,  and 
pictorial  br.smty  of'style,  which  hav«  characterized  all  Mr.  Herbert's  fictions  and  imparted 
to  them  such  a  bewitching  interest." — Yankee  Blade. 

"  The  author  out  of  a  simple  plot  and  very  few  characters,  has  constructed  a  novel 
o!'  deep  interest  and  of  considerable  historical  value.  It  will  be  found  well  worth 
rending  "--National  **gis,  Worcester. 


REDFIELDS    NEW    AND    POPULAR    PUBLICATIONS. 

MACAULAY' S  SPEECHES. 

Speeches  by  the  Right  Hon.  T.  B.  MACAULAY,  M.  P.,  Author  of 
"  The  History  of  England,"  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,"  &c.,  &c. 
Two  vols.,  12mo,  price  $2.00. 

"  It  is  hard  to  say  whether  his  poetry,  his  speeches  in  parliament,  or  his  briHiant 
essays,  are  the  most  charming;  each  has  raised  him  to  very  great  eminence,  and  woula 
be  sufficient  to  constitute  the  reputation  of  any  ordinary1  man." — Sir  Archibald  Alison 

"  It  may  be  said  that  Great  Britain  has  produced  no  statesman  since  Burke,  who  has 
united  in  so  eminent  a  degree  as  Macaulay  the  lofty  and  cultivated  genius,  the  eloquent 
crater,  and  the  sagacious  and  far-reaching  politician." — Albany  Argus. 

"  We  do  not  know  of  any  living  English  orator,  whose  eloquence  comes  so  near  the 
ancient  ideal — close,  rapid,  powerful,  practical  reasoning,  animated  by  an  intense  earn- 
estness of  feeling." — Courier  ff  Enquirer. 

"  Mr.  Macaulay  has  lately  acquired  aa  great  a  reputation  as  an  orator,  as  he  had  for- 
merly won  as  an  essayist  and  historian.  He  takes  in  his  speeches  the  same  wide  and 
comprehensive  grasp  of  his  subject  that  he  does  in  his  essays,  and  treats  it  in  the  same 
elegant  style." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin,. 

"  The  same  elaborate  finish,  sparkling  antithesis,  full  sweep  and  copious  flow  of 
thought,  and  transparency  of  style,  which  made  his  essays  so  attractive,  are  found  in 
his  speeches.  They  are  so  perspicuous,  so  brilliantly  studded  with  ornament  and  illus- 
tration, and  so  resistless  in  their  current,  that  they  appear  at  the  time  to  be  the  wisest 
and  greatest  of  human  compositions."— NexoYork  Evangelist, 


TRENCH  ON  PROVERBS. 

On  the  Lessons  in  Proverbs,  by  RICHARD  CHENEVIX  TRENCH,  B.  D., 

Professor  of  Divinity  in  King's  College,  London,  Author  of  the 
"  Study  of  Words."     12mo,  cloth,  50  cents. 

"Another  charming  book  by  the  author  of  the  "  Study  of  Words,"  on  a  subject  which 
is  so  ingeniously  treated,  that  we  wonder  no  one  has  treated  it  before." — Yankee  Blade. 

"  It  is  a  book  at  once  profoundly  instructive,  and  at  the  same  time  deprived  of  all 
approach  to  dryness,  by  the  charming  manner  in  which  the  subject  is  treated." — Ar- 
thur's Home  Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  wide  field,  and  one  which  the  author  has  well  cultivated,  adding  not  only  to 
his  own  reputation,  but  a  valuable  work  to  our  literature."— Albany  Evening  TnyM&ipt. 

"  The  work  shows  an  acute  perception,  a  genial  appreciation  of  wit,  and  great  re- 
search. It  is  a  very  rare  and  agreeable  production,  which  may  be  read  with  p  ofit  and 
delight."— New  York  Evangelist. 

"  The  style  of  the  author  is  terse  and  vigorous — almost  a  model  in  its  kind  '* — Port- 
land  Eclectic. 


THE  LION  SKIN 

And  the  Lover  Hunt ;  by  CHARLES  DE  BERNARD.     12mo,  $1.00. 

"  It  is  not  often  the  novel-reader  can  find  on  his  bookseller's  shelf  a  publication  so  full 
of  incidents  and  good  humor,  and  at  the  same  time  so  provocative  of  honest  thought." 
-•National  (Worcester,  Mass.)  Mgis. 

•'  It  is  full  of  incidents  ;  and  the  reader  becomes  so  interested  in  the  principal  person- 
ages in  the  work,  that  he  is  unwilling  to  lay  the  book  down  until  he  has  learned  tbeh 
wholf  history." — Boston  Olive  Branch. 

"  It  is  refreshing  to  meet  occasionally  with  a  well-published  story  which  is  written  for 
a  story,  and  for  nothing  else — which  is  not  tipped  with  the  snapper  of  a  moral,  01 
loaded  in  the  handle  with  a  pound  of  philanthropy,  or  an  equal  quantity  of  leaden  phi 
losophy." — Springjleld  Republican. 


REDFIELDS  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS, 

MOORE'S  LIFE  OF  SHERIDAN. 

Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  the  Rt.  Hon.  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan, 
by  THOMAS  MOORE,  with  Portrait  after  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
Two  vols.,  12mo,  cloth,  $2.00. 

"  One  of  the  most  brilliant  biographies  in  English  literature.  It  is  the  life  of  a  wit 
written  by  a  wit,  and  few  of  Tom  Moore's  most  sparkling  poems  are  more  brilliant  and 
"sscinating  than  this  biography." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  This  is  at  once  a  most  valuable  biography  of  the  most  celebrated  wit  of  the  times. 
id  one  of  the  most  entertaining  works  of  its  gifted  author." — Springfield  Republican. 

"The  Life  of  Shpridan,  the  wit,  contains  as  much  food  for  serious  thought  as  the 
best  sermon  that  was  ever  penned." — Arthur's  Home  Gazette. 

"  The  sketch  of  such  a  character  and  career  as  Sheridan's  by  sue  \and  as  Moore's, 
can  never  cease  to  be  attractive." — N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 

"The  work  is  instructive  and  full  of  interest." — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  It  is  a  gem  of  biography  ;  full  of  incident,  elegantly  written,  warmly  appreciative, 
and  on  the  whole  candid  and  just.  Sheridan  was  a  rare  and  wonderful  genius,  and  has 
in  this  work  justice  done  to  his  surpassing  merits."— N.  Y.  Evangelist. 


BARRINGTON'S  SKETCHES. 

Personal  Sketches  of  his  own  Time,  by  SIR  JONAH  HARRINGTON, 
Judge  if  the  High  Court  of  Admiralty  in  Ireland,  with  Illustra- 
tions by  Darley.  Third  Edition,  12mo,  cloth,  $1  25. 

"  A  more  entertaining  book  than  this  ''  not  often  thrown  in  our  way.  His  sketches 
of  character  are  inimitable  ;  and  many  of  the  prominent  men  of  his  time  are  hit  oft' in 
the  most  striking  and  graceful  outline." — Albany  Argus. 

"  He  was  a  very  shrewd  observer  and  eccentric  writer,  and  his  narrative  of  his  owu 
life,  and  sketches  of  society  in  Ireland  during  his  times,  are  exceedingly  humorous  and 
interesting."—  N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  It  is  one  of  those  works  which  are  conceived  and  written  in  so  hearty  a  view,  and 
brings  before  the  reader  so  many  palpable  and  amusing  characters,  that  the  entertain 
ment  and  information  are  equally  balanced."—  Boston  Transcript. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining  books  of  the  season." — N.  Y.  Recorder. 

"  It  portrays  in  life-like  colors  the  characters  and  daily  habits  of  nearly  all  the  Eng 
lish  and  Irish  celebrities  of  that  period."—  N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 


JOMINPS  CAMPAIGN  OF  WATERLOO. 

The  Political  and  Military  History  of  the  Campaign  of  Waterloo 
from  the  French  of  Gen.  Baron  Jomini,  by  Lieut.  S  V.  BENET 
U.  S.  Ordrianre,  with  a  Map,  12mo,  cloth,  75  cents. 

"Of  great  value,  Doth  for  its  historical  merit  and  its  acknowledged  impartiality."— 
Christian  Freeman,  Boston. 

"  It  has  long  been  regarded  in  Europe  as  a  work  of  more  than  ordinary  merit,  while 
to  military  men  his  review  of  the  tactics  and  manoeuvres  of  the  French  Emperor  dur- 
ing the  few  days  which  preceded  his  final  and  most  disastrous  defeat,  is  considered  at 
instructive,  as  it  is  interesting."—  Arthur's  Home  Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  standard  authority  and  illustrates  a  subject  of  permanent  interest.  Wifti 
military  students,  and  historical  inquirers,  it  will  be  a  favorite  reference,  and  for  tb« 
general  reader  it  possesses  great  value  and  interest." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  It  throws  much  light  on  often  mooted  points  respecting  Napoleon's  military  and 
political  genius.  The  translation  is  one  of  much  vigor." — Boston  Commonwealth. 

"It  supplies  an  important  chapter  in  the  most  interesting  and  eventful  period  of  Nl 
poleun's  military  career." — Savannah  Daily  News. 

"It  is  ably  written  and  skilfully  translated." — Yanlae  Made. 


REDFIELDS  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS... 


MEN  OF  THE  TIME ; 

Or,  Sketches  of  Living  Notables,  Authors,  Architects,  Artists,  Com- 
posers, Demagogues,  Divines,  Dramatists,  Engineers,  Journalists, 
Ministers,  Monarchs,  Novellists,  Politicians,  Poets,  Philanthro- 
pists, Preachers,  Savans,  Statesmen,  Travellers,  Voyagers.  War- 
riors. In  one  vol.,  12mo,  containing  nearly  Nine  Hundred  Bio- 
graphical Sketches;  price  $1.50. 

"I  am  glad  to  learn  that  you  are  publishing  this  work.  It  is  precisely  the  kind  of  in- 
formation that  every  public  and  intelligent  rnan  desires  to  see,  especially  in  reference  to 
the  distinguished  men  of  Europe,  but  which  I  have  found  it  extremely  difficult  to  ob- 
tain."—Extract  from  a  Letter  of  the  President  of  the  United  States  to  the  publisher. 

"It  forms  a  valuable  manual  for  reference,  especially  in  the  American  department, 
which  we  can  not  well  do  without ;  we  commend  it  to  the  attention  of  our  '  reading 
public.' " — Tribune. 

"  Just  the  book  we  have  desired  a  hundred  times,  brief,  statistical,  and  biographical 
sketches  of  men  now  living  in  Europe  and  America." — New  York  Observer, 

"  To  the  statesman  and  philanthropist,  as  well  as  the  scholar  and  business  man,  it  will 
be  found  of  great  convenience  as  a  reference  book,  and  must  soon  be  considered  as  in- 
dispensable to  a  library  as  Webster's  dictionary." — Lockport  Courier. 

"  This  is  emphatically  a  book  worthy  of  the  name,  and  will  secure  an  extended  pop 
ularity." — Detroit  Daily  Advertiser. 


LILLIAN,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

By  WINTHROP  MACKWORTH  PRAKD.     Now  first  collected.     One 
volume,  12mo;  price  $1. 

"A  timely  publication  is  this  volume.  A  more  charming  companion  (in  the  shape  of 
a  book)  can  scarcely  be  found  for  the  summer  holydays." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  They  are  amusing  sketches,  gay  and  sprightly  in  their  character,  exhibiting  great 
facility  of  composition,  and  considerable  powers  of  satire." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  There  is  a  brilliant  play  of  fancy  in  '  Lillian,'  and  a  moving  tenderness  in  '  Josephine,' 
for  which  it  would  be  hard  to  find  equals.  We  welcome,  therefore,  this  first  collected 
edition  of  his  works." — Abany  Express. 

"  As  a  writer  of  vers  de  societe  he  is  pronounced  to  be  without  an  equal  among  Eng- 
lish authors." — Syracuse.  Daily  Journal. 

"  Praed  was  one  of  the  most  fluent  and  versatile  English  poets  that  have  shone  in  the 
literary  world  within  the  last  century.  His  versification  is  astonishingly  easy  and  airy, 
and  his  imagery  not  less  wonderfully  graceful  and  aerial." — Albany  State  Register. 


THE  CAVALIERS  OF  ENGLAND; 

Or,  the  Times  of  the  Revolution  of  1642  and  1688.     By  HENRY 
WILLIAM  HERBERT.     One  vol.,  12mo;  price  $1,25. 

"  They  are  graphic  stories,  and  in  the  highest  degree  attractive  to  the  imagination  as 
well  as  instructive,  and  can  not  fail  to  be  popular." — Commercial. 

"  These  tales  are  written  in  the  popular  author's  best  style,  and  give  us  a  vivid  and 
thrilling  idea  of  the  customs  and  influences  of  the  chivalrous  age." — Christian  Freeman. 

"  His  narrative  is  always  full  of  great  interest ;  his  descriptive  powers  are  of  an  un- 
common order ;  the  romance  of  history  loses  nothing  at  his  hands  ;  he  paints  with  the 
power,  vigor,  and  effect  of  a  master." — The  Times. 

"They  bring  the  past  of  old"England  vividly  before  the  reader,  and  impress  upon  the 
mind  with  indelible  force,  the  living  images  of  the  puritans  as  well  as  the  cavalier?,  whose 
earnest  character  and  noble  deeds  lend  such  a  lively  interest  to  the  legends  of  the  limrs 
In  which  they  lived  and  fought,  loved  and  hated,  prayed  arid  revelled."—  Newark  Doily. 


REDFIELD'S  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS. 

MAURICE'S  THEOLOGICAL  ESSAYS. 

Theological  Essays.  By  FREDERICK  DENISON  MAURICE,  M.A., 
Chaplain  of*  Lincoln's  Inn.  From  the  second  London  Edition, 
with  a  new  Preface  and  other  additions.  One  vol.,  12mo,  cloth; 
price  $1.00. 

"  These  essays  are  well  worthy  the  attention  of  every  thoughtful  reader,  and  espe- 
cially of  every  Christian  minister.  He  speaks  with  the  earnestness  of  a  vital  experi- 
ence, and  with  the  kindly  love  of  a  human  sensibility.  It  is  refreshing  to  read  one  who 
thus  draws  from  a  living  experience  rather  than  from  the  dry  wells  of  an  abstract  and 
formal  theology." — Chicago  Congregational  Herald. 

"  They  manifest  a  remarkable  degree  of  logical  ability,  a  thorough  acquaintance  with 
the  Bible,  and  a  full  reliance  upon  the  revelations  of  that  book  for  every  human  emer- 
gency. It  is  well  worth  a  devoted  study." — Louisville  Journal. 

"  Mr.  Maurice  is  unquestionably  a  man  of  learning  and  ability,  wielding  a  powerful 
pen,  and  able  to  invest  dry,  and  to  many  minds  distasteful  themes,  with  unusual  interest." 
—  Worcester  National  Mgis. 

"  These  are  the  famous  series  of  discourses,  in  consequence  of  publishing  which,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Maurice  was  expelled  from  a  professorship  in  King's  College,  London." — Com- 
mercial Advertiser. 

"  Evidently  the  production  of  a  mind  of  considerable  vigor." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  The  Essays  give  decided  indication  of  reflection,  power,  and  earnestness  of  spirit." — 
Hartford  Christian  Secretary. 

"A  noble-spirited  and  really  honest  man,  full  of  tenderness  and  truthfulness." — 
The  (New  York)  Churchman. 


THE  CATACOMBS  OF  ROME, 

As  Illustrating  the  Church  of  the  First  Three  Centuries.  By  the 
Right  Rev.  W.  INGRAHAM  KIP,  D.D.,  Missionary  Bishop  of 
California.  Author  of  "Christmas  Holidays  in  Rome,"  "Early 
Conflicts  of  Christianity,"  &c.,  &c.  With  over  One  Hundred 
Illustrations.  12mo,  cloth  ;  price  75  cents. 

"The  evidence  furnished  by  the  Catacombs  of  the  departure  of  the  Romish  Church 
Yotn  Primitive  Christianity  is  complete  "and  overwhelming.  The  work  is  exceedingly 
Valuable." — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  It  is  a  valuable  aid  in  the  contest  between  primitive  truth  and  modern  innovations  and 
is  such  the  author  commends  it  to  his  brethren  in  the  Church." — Rochester  American. 

"  We  commend  this  book  as  one  of  the  most  fascinating  and  useful  of  volumes  ;  full 
of  informiition,  imparted  in  a  style  which  beguiles  the  reader,  and  makes  his  perusal 
of  the  book  seem  like  a  pleasant  dream." — Zion's  Herald. 

"  Few  books,  lately  published,  will  better  repay  the  reader  than  this,  which  unites  so 
happily  the  deepest  interest  with  the  soundest  instruction." — Banner  of  the  Cross. 


B  ALLOWS  REVIEW  OF  BEE  CHER. 

The  Divine  Character  Vindicated.  A  Review  of  the  "  Conflict 
of  Ages."  By  Rev.  MOSES  BALLOU.  In  one  vol.,  12mo,  cloth ; 
price  $1.00. 

"His  demolition  of  Beecher's  'Conflict  of  Ages' — especially  the  fantastic  and  absurd 
conceit  which  forms  the  ground  plan  of  that  work — is  most  triumphant  and  complete. 
— (Charleston)  Evening  News. 

"The  best  feature  of  the  work  that  we  discover  is  its  regard  to  decency,  and  its 
general  freedom  from  a  vituperative  spirit." — Puritan  Recorder. 

"  Mr.  Ballou  writes  clearly  and  in  good  temper,  and  presses  his  opponent  with  many 
very  perplexing  considerations. — N.  Y.  Evangelist. 

"  It  is  the  fullest,  clearest,  most  thorough  review  of  Dr.  Beecher's  work  which  has 
yet  appeared."— The  Trumpet. 


REDFIELD'S  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS. 


LEE'S  TALES  OF  LABOR. 


SUMMERFIELD; 

Or,  Life  on  a  Farm.     By  DAY  KELLOGG  LEE.     One  vol.,  12mo; 
price  $1.00. 

"  We  have  read  it  with  lively  and  satisfied  interest.  The  scenes  are  natural,  the  char- 
acters  homely  and  life-like,  and  the  narrative  replete  with  passages  of  the  profoundest 
pathos,  and  incidents  of  almost  painful  interest.  Above  all,  'Summerfield'  is  in  the 
deepest  sense  religious,  and  calculated  to  exert  a  strong  and  wholesome  moral  influence 
on  i's  readers,  who  we  trust  will  be  many." — Horace  Greeley. 

"  It  aims  to  teach  the  lesson  of  contentment,  and  the  rural  picture  which  it  draws,  and 
the  scenes  of  home  happiness  with  which  it  makes  us  acquainted,  are  well  calculated  to 
enforce  it." — Atlas. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  life  and  nature  in  the  story,  and  in  some  of  the  scenes  there 
is  a  rich  display  of  wit." — Albany  Argus. 

"  It  has  a  flavor  of  originality,  and  the  descriptions  are  generally  excellent;  and,  what 
is  something  of  a  peculiarity  at  present  in  writing  of  this  kind,  not  overburdened  with 
words." — Literary  World. 


THE  MASTER  BUILDER; 

Or,  Life  at  a  Trade.     By  DAY  KELLOGG  LEE.     One  vol.,  12mo; 
price  $1.00. 

"  He  is  a  powerful  and  graphic  writer,  and  from  what  we  have  seen  in  the  pages  of 
the  '  Master  Builder,'  it  is  a  romance  of  excellent  aim  and  success." — State  Register. 

"  The.  '  Master  Builder'  is  the  master  production.  It  is  romance  into  which  is  instilled 
the  realities  of  life ;  and  incentives  are  put  forth  to  noble  exertion  and  virtue.  The 
story  is  pleasing— almost  fascinating  ;  the  moral  is  pure  and  undefiled." — Daily  Times. 

"Its  descriptions  are,  many  of  them,  strikingly  beautiful;  commingling  in  good  pro- 
portions, the  witty,  the  grotesque,  the  pathetic,  and  the  heroic.  It  may  be  read  with 
profit  as  well  as  pleasure." — Argus. 

"  The  work  before  us  will  commend  itself  to  the  masses,  depicting  as  it  does  most 
graphically  the  struggles  and  privations  which  await  the  unknown  and  uncared-for 
Mechanic  in  his  journey  through  life.  'It  is  what  -might  be  called  a  romance,  but  not  of 
love,  jealousy,  and  revenge  order." — Lockport  Courier. 

"  The  whole  scheme  of  the  story  is  well  worked  up  and  very  instructive."— Albany 
Express. 

A 

MERRIMAC; 

Or,  Life. at  the  Loom.     By  DAY  KKLLOGG  LEE.     One  vol.,  12mo; 
price  $1.00. 

"A  new  volume  of  the  series  of  popular  stories  which  have  already  gained  a  well' 
deserved  reputation  for  the  author.  As  a  picture  of  an  important  and  unique  phase  of 
New  England  life,  the  work  is  very  interesting,  and  can  scarcely  fail  of  popularity  among 
the  million." — Harper's  Magazine. 

"  The  work  is  extremely  well  written.  It  is  as  interesting  as  a  novel,  while  it  is  natu- 
ral ne  every- day  life." — Boston  Traveller. 

'•  Merrimac  is  a  story  which,  by  its  simple  pathos,  and  truthfulness  to  nature,  will 
touch  the  heart  of  every  reader.  It  is  free  from  the  least  tinge  of  that  odious  stilted 
stylo  of  thought  and  diction  characteristic  of  the  majority  of  the  novels  with  which  the 
reading  public  are  deluged." — N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"•Another  plain,  straightforward,  absorbing  work  from  a  pen  which  before  has  added 
riches  to  our  literature,  arid  honor  to  him  who  wielded  it." — Buffalo  Express. 

"  It  is  written  in  a  genial  spirit  and  abounds  in  humor." — N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 


7\ 


